Galatea
by Irina
Summary: After years of planning, Draco is ready to overthrow Voldemort and take his place at the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny, a former auror, is the only thing he needs to put his plan in motion. [Part two in a trilogy - COMPLETE]
1. Burning Down the House

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Title and Chapter: Galatea Chapter One: "Burning Down the House" (1/?)

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Author Name: Irina

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Author Email: irina@schnoogle.com

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Category: Action/Adventure

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Keywords: destiny, adventure, Pendragon, mythology, post-Hogwarts

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Rating: R

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Spoilers: All four books

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Summary: _Galatea_ is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in _The Rebirth_, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry…and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess – it's going to be a wild ride. [Sequel to _The Rebirth_.]

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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Author's Note: Galatea is the sequel to my first fic, "The Rebirth," and the second fic in what has been dubbed The Mórrígna Trilogy. Since Galatea is a sequel, please do read "The Rebirth" first to cut down on confusion. It's a great story; I promise you won't be sorry. Thanks to Danette and DRI, my beta readers, and to all of my lovely muses at the HP Pendragon yahoo group. If you'd like to join them, point your browser to groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon. I'd love to see you there. Remember, folks, feedback makes me a better writer, which translates to a better story for you to read.

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Chapter One

Burning Down the House

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The condemned man savors his final smoke

How good does that tobacco taste?

don't they know that

a man with a hellhound on his trail

deserves a cigarette?

--from "burning down the house" by Max Blagg

In the days of ancient Greece, there lived a sculptor named Pygmalion. Unimpressed with the local specimens of feminine beauty, he created a statue, formed in the image of his deepest desires. On the feast of the goddess Aphrodite, he asked her to send him a bride, but in his heart he longed for the marble of his creation. That day, the goddess brought the cold stone to life, a woman molded into a man's ideal, born to fulfill another's desires. Her name was Galatea.

*****

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Ginny stood in the middle of a lightly wooded area. It was a beautiful place, peaceful and calm. The golden sun filtered lazily through the leaves, lightly dappling the ground with pools of warm glow. In the distance, she could hear the cheerful rush of water.

She was confused; she must be in the Otherworld – no other place looked like this, had this aura of timelessness – but it was so unlike the Otherworld she'd visited the past five years. There were no soldiers or weapons here, and Mórrígan was nowhere in sight. Perhaps if she could find the stream, there would be people nearby who could give her directions to the goddess's camp.

The stream was a silver-blue ribbon winding through the emerald grass. Its water looked very tempting, but Ginny knew better than to eat or drink anything from the Otherworld. She slipped off her shoes and waded in a small way, though, enjoying the coolness of the glassy water as it flowed through her toes and lapped at her ankles. A ways down the stream, Ginny made out the crouching figure of an old woman doing her wash.

Taking her shoes from the bank, she stepped out of the water and walked through the springy grass, calling out to the laundress. The Otherworldly denizen took no notice. Ginny's steps slowed, and then stopped all together as she drew closer. Gods above…

The woman's hair was sparse and iron gray, sticking out from her head in stiff wires. Beneath the cursory cover of her hair, the woman's scalp was scabbed and red. Her clothing was tattered, a ragged red dress under a faded green cloak. Her sleeves were rolled up so she could wash the garment; her fingernails were long and red, and filed to sharp points. Ginny's breath caught in her throat. It was the washer at the ford, the Mórrígan's crone face. This woman washed the clothes of those destined to die in upcoming battles. The Pendragon bit her lip, wanting very badly to run away. She closed her hand around her dragon ring, screwed up her courage, and said, "You sent for me?"

The woman turned and smiled in welcome, and Ginny stumbled back a step. The washer's eyes glowed red and her teeth, as pointy as her fingernails, were smeared with the crimson of mortal blood. Mórrígan was the most gruesome thing Ginny had ever seen. Despite her age, the goddess's voice was strong. "Why don't you come closer?" She held out her hand and beckoned Ginny to her side, and the Pendragon saw the scar that slashed across its back.

"I'd rather not," she replied, keeping her distance.

"Do I frighten you, Virginia?" the crone asked, cackling with delight.

"A little," she answered, eyes wide, unable to look away. Experience had taught her that it was generally a bad idea to lie to the Mórrígan.

"Good." The goddess turned back to her laundry.

"What are you washing?" Ginny asked, craning her neck, trying to see without having to come any closer.

"The first casualty."

"In what battle?"

Mórrígan held the fabric up, and water ran from it onto the ground. Ginny's eyes took it in at a glance – a dark blue shirt trimmed with red at the neck and sleeves. There was a small hole near the bottom hem, and the garment was stained red with blood. "In your battle, Virginia." The goddess stood, stooped over with age, and slowly stalked toward Ginny, the bloody shirt held out in front of her. Ginny backed away; Mórrígan reeked with the unbearable stench of death. "There will be many more where this came from. You will keep me very busy indeed, before all is said and done."

Ginny woke with a start. Through her bedroom window, she could see the afternoon sun riding low in the sky. It would be night soon, the biggest night of her Auror career. Tonight, after years of being his victims, they were finally going to capture the mole. She rolled out of bed and dressed quickly, eager to get to work and start the operation.

*****

The pulsing lights in the Muggle dance club flashed their color patterns over the writhing, gyrating bodies of the people on the floor. Ginny tugged self-consciously on her low-cut white shirt; she usually wore Muggle clothes, but never ones like this. Her black trousers were skintight and low waisted, leaving her midriff bare. Over the ensemble, she wore a black leather duster of Ria's. It would keep her tattoo concealed for now. Ginny didn't want to blow her cover before they'd cornered the mole and his Death Eater contact.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching out Agent Fintan. She had to admit, this club was a perfect meeting place. The loud music and the blinking lights would ensure that any business could be conducted in relative secrecy. Yes, Fintan had planned his betrayals well.

"What can I get you?"

Ginny turned to the bartender. "Sorry?"

"What do you want?" he asked, his words invested with the nasal twang of an American accent.

Ginny blinked. But she _had_ been standing next to the bar and, looking around, she saw that most of the Muggles had drinks with them. She had to blend in. When in Rome… "Soda water with lime, please."

"Hitting the hard stuff tonight?" he teased.

"Not when I'm working," she answered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

The bartender's eyes turned speculative. "You're a working girl?"

She nodded, dropped some Muggle money on the bar, and turned to walk away. He reached over the counter and caught her arm. "My shift ends at two. Maybe you and I could…"

She pulled away. "Sorry, I have plans."

As she turned toward the crowd once again, she nearly bumped into Harry. _Did I mishear, or did you just tell him that you're a working girl?_

__

I am_ a working girl,_ Ginny answered. _I'm a girl, and I'm at work._

He laughed out loud. _Gin, you just told him you're a…what would your mum call it? A scarlet woman_.

Ginny nearly dropped her drink. _You're joking. Stupid Muggle slang._ Just then, she spotted Fintan sitting at a small table in the corner. She raised her transmitter charm to her mouth. "He's here. Get in position."

Harry checked his medical Portkey, a circular disk three inches in diameter that he wore threaded onto his belt. In the event of a life-threatening injury, the Portkey would transport him instantly to St Mungo's. Portkeys were the only way to get to the Wizarding hospital anymore, as it was protected by airtight anti-apparition wards.

The field agents had been over the plan dozens of times. It was delicate work, arresting a Dark Wizard in the middle of a crowd of Muggles without anyone getting hurt. Agent Plato strolled up to the table and leaned down to whisper something in Fintan's ear. As the mole turned, Ginny watched the Auror discretely fire an _Imperius_ curse. Plato quickly gave his instructions, and then the Aurors all settled down to wait for Fintan's Death Eater contact to appear.

Three hours later, the mole still sat alone. "It's no good," Ginny said into her transmitter. "They must have gotten wind of the sting. Let's take him in."

Plato and Saturn strolled over to the mole and led him out of the club without a fuss. _Imperius_ worked wonders when it came to easy arrests. Aurors left their stations throughout the club and streamed outside, congregating on the sidewalk. "We weren't going to get anywhere tonight," Ginny said, pulling her leather duster tighter around her. "Just take him to a holding cell. I'll meet you all there. I'm parked in the back."

She turned and walked down an alley that ran along the side of the club. "She's _parked_?" Saturn said, turning to look at Harry. "Parked what? A broom?"

"Her car," he said shortly, reaching into his pocket for an incarceration Portkey.

"Why doesn't she just apparate?" Saturn pressed.

"Because she doesn't want to," Harry replied, pressing the Portkey to Fintan's skin. The man vanished. "Job well done," he told the group. "We've caught the mole. I'll see you all back at the Division." The crowd split up, each heading for a different safe-point, where disapparation would go unnoticed by the Muggles.

*****

As she neared her car, Ginny fished around her pocket for her keys. It was a short drive to the Ministry; she'd probably beat some of her fellow agents, if they had to walk around the city until they found a deserted place to disapparate. As she neared the automobile, a blast of red light hurled through the air, tearing the sleeve of Ria's coat and opening a gash on Ginny's left arm. She ignored the sudden burn of pain and whirled around to find herself facing ten Death Eaters in full masks and robes, wands drawn.

Ginny turned and ran.

Her feet pounded against the pavement and the duster blew out behind her. She could hear them closing in; her only thought was to lead them as far away from the Muggles as possible before the inevitable confrontation. She ran down alley after alley, through twists and turns, around countless corners. Ginny had no idea where she was, but the avalanche of footsteps running after her gradually decreased. The Death Eaters dropped off one by one, unable to keep up. If she could just outrun most of them, she could easily fight the two or three who were left.

Sucking in great gulps of air, her throat burning, Ginny ran until she couldn't run any more. There was only one following her now, and they raced down a deserted, dimly lit alley. She turned abruptly and faced the Death Eater who stopped short, wand drawn. "Go on then," Ginny gasped. "Let's see what you can do."

She didn't need to ask twice. A hex rocketed through the air. The Auror ducked beneath the light and threw herself at the Death Eater's midriff, knocking her to the ground. Ginny grabbed the woman's wrist and slammed it into the pavement, cracking the bones and sending her wand skidding off into the darkness. The Death Eater's sleeve was bunched up around her elbow, revealing her mark. In the dim light, Ginny made out that the shirt beneath her robes was blue, with a thick red stripe on the edge.

With a scream of pain, the woman drove her elbow into Ginny's breastbone, knocking the wind out of her, and scrambled to her feet. "What are you going to do?" Ginny taunted, standing to face the woman. "Your wrist is broken. Your wand is gone."

"You don't have a wand either," the woman said.

Ginny grinned demonically. "I don't need magic to fight. You, on the other hand—"

So fast Ginny had hardly seen her move, the Death Eater was pointing a Muggle gun straight at Ginny's head. "You're going to come with me."

The Auror froze. "What if I don't want to?"

The Death Eater released the safety. "Then I'll shoot you and bring you along anyway."

The gun trembled; the woman was nervous. "You couldn't shoot me," Ginny said, inching closer. "You don't have the courage. Look at you; you're a wreck."

"Come one step closer and I swear to the goddess I will," the woman said, her voice shaking.

Ginny said in a silky-soft voice, "I don't believe you."

The woman fired, and chips of brick scattered like shrapnel from where the bullet struck the wall. Ginny didn't flinch. "You missed."

"That was a warning shot," the Death Eater said, shaking in earnest now. "The next one goes in your leg."

"You know what?" Ginny asked, taking another step. "I still don't believe you."

"That's too bad."

In that split second, Ginny saw something in the woman's eyes, the determination, inward steeling of her resolve…she meant what she said. Before the Death Eater could fire, Ginny launched herself through the air, tackling her opponent, sandwiching the gun between the two of them. They grappled with each other, both struggling to grasp the weapon. It was either the Death Eater or Ginny – she was the Pendragon, and could not afford to become Voldemort's prisoner. As soon as Ginny felt the curve of the trigger, she pulled.

The Death Eater's body jerked at the impact of the shot, and then went limp. Ginny scrambled from beneath the woman and flipped her over. The bullet had gone through her stomach; Ginny's white shirt was soaked with red blood, even though she'd only been beneath the Death Eater for a moment. She worked the woman's fingers free of the gun and, with her other hand, pulled off the metallic silver mask.

The Auror's mouth opened in a silent scream. The Death Eater was Shannon. Ginny's mind froze, unable to contemplate what she knew to be true, but her body immediately swung into action. Without hesitating, she grabbed her friend's wrist and disapparated.

*****

Harry sat in an empty conference room, working on his report. He'd had a creeping suspicion that all was not right with Ginny, and had been thinking for the past ten minutes or so that he should perhaps go look for her. Just as his fears exploded in a full crescendo, there was a pop and she appeared on the other side of the room, crouched beside a prone body. "Gin?" he said, jumping to his feet and coming around the table. "What hap—gods and goddesses!"

"Hurry up," Ginny said, rising to her knees and lunging for his belt. Her fingers, made clumsy by her hurry, pulled at the buckle.

"Gin," he said, staring wide-eyed, "is that Shannon?"

"Get it off!" she screamed. Her hands wouldn't work.

"What—"

"Your Portkey! I need your Portkey!"

Harry was frozen. He couldn't move past the thought that Shannon, who he'd counted as his friend, had a Dark Mark on her arm and was bleeding all over the tiled floor of the Ministry's conference room. "Why did you bring her here?" he asked, dazed. "Why didn't you use _your_ Portkey?"

Ginny finally got his belt undone and wrenched the disk off. "I deactivated it," she said, pressing the metal, rune-side down, to Shannon's chest. Her friend vanished, whisked away to St. Mungo's emergency ward.

"When?"

"Last month." Ginny sat back on the floor beside the small puddle of blood. Her eyes stared straight ahead.

"Why?" There he got no reply. "Maybe it wasn't her," Harry said, sinking down beside her. "It could've been Polyjuice, or—"

"It was her," Ginny interrupted flatly. She was in emotional shock; Harry recognized it. Her eyes flew to his, but Harry couldn't see Ginny looking out at him. There was only panic. "Catherine is coming. Heal my arm."

"What? How do you—"

"I can hear her coming, and I'm bleeding silver all over Ria's coat so hurry up and _fix it_," Ginny snarled in a tone he'd never heard from her before. Wordlessly, he tapped the gash with his wand, and the blood vanished just as the door swung open and the chair of the division walked in.

"Report," she demanded, then noticed the red blood on the ground. "What the hell?"

"Agent Fintan is in custody," Ginny said tonelessly, pulling herself to her feet. "I also apprehended one Death Eater. The extent of her wounds required that she be sent to St. Mungo's."

"Jezebel," Catherine said slowly, "procedure says that all prisoners are sent to holding cells and triaged for treatment at the Ministry." Ginny didn't respond; there wasn't even a flicker in her eyes that showed she recognized what the senior Auror was saying. "Where did this blood come from?"

"From the prisoner."

Catherine stared at Ginny, then turned to Harry, a questioning look on her face. He made no move to explain.

"Jezebel, what was the nature of the Death Eater's injuries?" Catherine asked slowly.

"I shot her," Ginny replied, looking straight ahead, not making eye contact. Harry sucked in a sharp breath.

"You…_shot_ her?" Catherine asked incredulously. "With _what_?"

Ginny set the gun down on the table.

"But…how did you—"

"You'll have my report tomorrow," Ginny interrupted, turning on her heel and leaving the room. She slammed the door shut behind her, so hard it swung right back open.

Catherine looked at the door, and then to Harry. "Midas, tell me what's going on."

Harry took a deep breath. "It was her friend."

Catherine looked at him for a long moment, and then shut her eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she turned and swept from the room. Harry was left alone.

*****

Ginny jerked open her desk drawer and frantically rummaged through the papers. There had to be a packet of fags in here somewhere; there just had to be. She slammed the drawer shut in frustration and yanked the next one open. Third time was the charm. Her hand shook so badly it took her five tries to light the match, then she sat back, eyes closed, and sucked in a lungful of smoke.

Ginny looked up as Catherine came in, carrying a glass of water. The division head shut the door behind her and set the drink on Ginny's desk. "I thought you might need it."

Ginny didn't reply.

"Jezebel," Catherine began, "how did you get a Muggle gun?"

No answer.

"There are procedures to follow—" she cut off as Ginny blew a stream of smoke into her face. "This is a no-smoking building, Jezebel."

Ginny dropped her cigarette into the water glass. It extinguished with a hiss. 

"As I was saying," Catherine continued gently. "There are procedures to follow. I know that now is probably the worst time to be talking about this, but there may be an inquiry to determine whether or not you should be disciplined. Aurors can't just go around shooting people—"

"If you have a problem with it, sack me," Ginny interrupted, her eyes fixed fiercely on Catherine's.

The division head would be insane to let Ginny go; Jezebel was the best Auror in the department. Considering the fight they were fighting, sacking her wasn't an option. "You know I won't do that."

Ginny stood and picked her bag up from its place on top of a file cabinet in the corner. "You'll have my report in the morning."

"I'm not through talking to you, Jezebel," Catherine said, jumping to her feet.

Ginny didn't answer, didn't look back as she left the office.

*****

A solitary light burned in the Magical Games and Sports office. Ria had worked late nearly every night for the past three weeks, pouring over the financial disclosure documents for the professional Quidditch clubs. Now was the time when teams negotiated new contracts for their players, and Ria was in charge of making sure no one exceeded their salary cap.

She looked up as the door eased open, and then smiled in welcome. "Gin! Thanks for stopping by; I was desperate for a break. All this small print is making me cross-eyed." As her friend stepped into the light, the smile faded from Ria's face and she was on her feet in an instant. "What's going on?"

"Something's happened," Ginny said, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "Something terrible…"

"What is it?" Ria asked, gripping the back of her chair. She'd never seen Ginny look this way before, and her friend was splattered with blood.

"There was an operation tonight. Ria," Ginny paused, then forced the words out of her mouth, "Shannon was hurt."

"_Shannon_?" Ria asked incredulously. "_Our_ Shannon? What was she doing at an Auror raid? Is she all right? What was…who conducts a raid when there are innocent bystanders around?"

Ginny slowly shook her head. "She wasn't an _innocent_ bystander, Ria. She…" Ginny's voice failed her.

Ria paled, and raised her hand to her mouth in horror. "It's impossible. It couldn't be, Gin. You're wrong. It's some kind of mistake." Ginny didn't speak. She just stood, hands hanging limply at her sides, gazing sadly at her best friend. Ria felt tears prick her eyes. "No," she whispered. "Where is she now? How badly is she hurt?"

"She's at St. Mungo's," Ginny whispered. "Ria…I shot her. I didn't know; I swear I didn't know. I never would've—"

"Oh my God, Gin," Ria said, folding her friend into an embrace. Ginny was trembling fiercely, shivers of guilt and shock. "Come with me. We can go to Mungo's and wait for news."

"I can't," Ginny gasped. "I can't be there; I've no right."

"There has to be an explanation," Ria said, holding her friend tighter.

"She's a Death Eater," Ginny said, her voice thick with pain. "How do we explain that? I saw her Dark Mark. She's a Death Eater, and we never _noticed_. How could we not have seen…she's our _friend_, and we never saw it!"

"I'm going to Mungo's," Ria said.

"I need to get my car. I left it behind."

"Then what?"

"I don't know," Ginny whispered.

Ria nodded, and looked Ginny in the eyes as she said, "I promise I'll write as soon as there's news. My owl will find you."

*****

Mike lounged in his kitchen, sipping a mug of coffee and reading the morning newspaper. According to the _Prophet_, Agent Jezebel had caught another Death Eater last night. So what else is new? Mike thought, turning to the comics. Ginny had been on a rampage the last few months, bringing in Dark Wizards hand over fist. He was chuckling over _Martin Miggs_ when someone pounded on his door.

He padded over to answer, and saw Ginny standing in his hall. Her hair was mussed, her eyes bleary, and her shirt splattered with red. "Come in," Mike said quickly, stepping aside. "Are you all right? What happened to you?"

"A raid," she slurred, staggering inside.

"You're pissed!" he exclaimed in surprise. "You smell like a cheap pub."

She swung her bloodshot eyes to his face. "I smell like a very expensive pub. Single malt scotch, aged sixty years. Do you have any?"

"No," he said, leading her into the kitchen.

"Oh." Ginny's face fell. "Do you have anything to drink?"

"We have coffee," Dana said, sweeping into the room, clothed in a fuzzy blue bathrobe, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. She snatched Ginny's car keys out of her hand as she walked by. "Lots and lots of black coffee. And you're going to have some."

Ginny slumped down in a kitchen chair. "What're you doing here?" she scowled.

"I _live_ here, remember?" Dana said, sliding a mug across the table. Ginny made a face at the strong smell, and her second urged, "Drink up! It'll do you good."

"I heard you caught another Death Eater last night," Mike said, his brow still creased with concern. "Congratulations."

Ginny laughed, a sound that, if Mike and Dana hadn't already been worried, would've made them so. "Thank you very much."

"You should be proud of yourself," Mike continued.

"Proud?" Ginny asked bleakly. "What's there to be proud of?"

"Well, you know. Bringing in a Dark Witch, ridding the world of evil and all that."

"Evil," Ginny repeated in a whisper, taking a sip of her coffee. "Sure."

There was a tap at the window, and Dana slid the glass open to let in the gray owl. It fluttered across the room, dropped an envelope in Ginny's lap, and, on its way out, snatched the piece of bacon Mike held in offering.

Ginny tore the envelope open and read the contents, her face not changing a bit. "I have to go." She stood and started for the door.

"You can't go anywhere," Mike said, jumping up and barring her way. "If you show up at the division in this state, they'll sack you for sure. Stay here for a few hours and sleep it off."

"I have to go," she repeated, ducking beneath his arm and heading into the entryway.

"I have your keys," Dana said, jogging after Ginny. "You can't go anywhere until you've sobered up a bit."

"I'll walk," Ginny said shortly, pulling the door open and disappearing into the hall.

Mike and Dana stared at each other. What was going on?

*****

Gwen poured milk over her dry cereal and blew a kiss at Esme, who was busy fishing a teabag out of her mug. The intercom buzzed and Esme walked into the entryway and pushed the button. "Hello?"

"It's Ria. Let me up. It's important."

There was an edge to Ria's voice that Esme hadn't heard before. She pressed the button to buzz her into the building, and then opened the door to see Ria walking purposefully down the hall. "Is Gwen at home?" she demanded.

"Yes…" Esme replied. "What's going on?"

"Ria!" Gwen said, poking her head into the entryway. "You're just in time for breakfast. Come on in."

"Gwen," Ria said, her self-control hanging on by a thread, "come into the living room. I need to talk to you."

"Is everything okay?" Gwen asked, following Ria through a door at the far end of the foyer.

Ria sank into an armchair. "You'd better sit down."

Gwen frowned. "What's going on? What's happened?"

"Sit down," Ria repeated quietly.

Her friend dropped onto a sofa and Esme took a seat beside her. Both of them looked at Ria with expectant concern.

Ria was sure that this was, without a doubt, the hardest thing she would ever have to do. "Something bad happened last night. The Auror division had a sting operation. Gwen, Shannon was shot."

"Shot?" Gwen echoed, eyes wide. "With what?"

"A Muggle gun. She was sent to St. Mungo's and the doctors tried to fix her. They tried, Gwen. But—"

"No," Gwen whispered, shaking her head.

"She died in the operating room," Ria choked out, her voice shaking on the words. She thought she'd cried herself out at the hospital, but tears once again welled in her eyes. "Shannon's dead, Gwen. She was a Death Eater."

A muffled sob was Gwen's only response. Esme pulled Gwen close, cradling her head and whispering nonsense words, trying in vain to calm her down. "Who did it?" Gwen choked out, her words muffled by Esme's shirt. "Which one of them killed her?"

The tears spilled out of Ria's eyes and she fisted her hands in her lap. "It was Ginny. She didn't know. Shannon was wearing a mask."

Gwen jerked away from Esme and stared. "What?" she whispered, her grief for her dead friend quickly replaced by concern for the living one. "Oh gods. Where is she?"

"I don't know. I went by her flat before I came here, and she wasn't there."

"You're telling me she's all alone after…" Gwen dashed her tears away with the back of her hand. "We have to find her. Where could she have gone?"

"There was no one at Harry's either. That was the only other place I could think of."

"We'll check the Burrow then," Gwen said. "And if she's not there, we'll go to Mike's." She would grieve for Shannon later. Right now, Ginny was her biggest concern.

*****

Mike and Dana resumed their breakfast, more subdued than they'd been before. They were both worried out of their minds for Ginny, but what could they do? A frantic pounding on the door sent Mike running for the entryway; he hoped she'd come back. He jerked the door open and found himself face to face with Harry. "Where is she?"

For once in Mike's life, a sarcastic barb was not forthcoming. "I don't know."

"Have you seen her? Has she been here?"

Mike nodded. "She was here maybe half an hour ago, pissed out of her mind. She looked like she'd been on a weekend bender."

"Did she say anything important?"

Mike shook his head. "She got an owl, read the note, and then left."

"Did you ask why?"

"You know she doesn't explain herself, not ever. I've learned not to ask."

Harry was nearly frantic. He had to find her. She was in no state to be wandering around London by herself. "Think hard. Did she say anything that might tell you where she's gone?"

He shook his head. "We talked about the Death Eater she'd brought in. I asked her about her latest capture—" Harry sucked in a sharp breath and Mike frowned. "What?"

"It was Shannon," Harry said.

Mike leaned back against the wall, staring at Harry in shock. "You're joking."

"No."

"Oh goddess! I _congratulated _her!"

Harry pressed his lips tightly together, but didn't say anything. He couldn't think of anything _to_ say, and it was obvious that Mike felt bad enough without any help from Harry.

"You'll find her?" Mike asked urgently. "You have to find her."

Harry nodded. "I'm going home to change, and then I'll keep looking. I'll owl you when she turns up." He didn't like Mike, but Ginny was the younger man's closest friend. He had a right to know when she was found.

*****

Harry jogged down the hall of his building. He felt her the moment he stepped out of the lift; she was in his flat.

He eased the door open and quietly shut it. She was playing the piano. He recognized the piece, Bach's _Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor_. It was low and beautiful, composed for the organ. He walked into the living room and looked at her back, hunched over the keys. Harry stood there, entranced, watching her play, her fingers skating across the keys. The music seemed to well from someplace inside of her, flowing out through her hands and his instrument. He bathed in the sound, waited until the last cord died away.

He spotted an empty glass on an end table and silently crept over. Mike had said Ginny was pissed; was she still drinking? He picked up the tumbler and smelled it; the strong, bitter stench of sobriety potion stung his nostrils. 

When the song finished, Ginny turned her head to the side, presenting him with her profile. There was a moment of silence. Then, "I didn't know where else to go."

Harry set the tumbler down. "You heard me come in?"

"I heard you coming five blocks away." There was another pause, and then Ginny sighed. "I dare say you have a thing or two to say to me."

"Are you sober?"

"Yes."

"Good." Harry took a deep breath, and then launched into the lecture he'd been preparing since she stormed out of the conference room. "What the hell are you playing at, disabling your Portkey? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? What were you _thinking_? You could've been—"

"She died."

Harry blinked, surprised at the interruption. "What?"

"Shannon died." Ginny's words were flat and expressionless. "I got the owl at Mike's. I killed her."

"Oh, Gin," he murmured, walking across the room to stand beside her. That's when he realized she was still in her clothes from the night before, her shirt now stiff with the dark brown of her friend's blood. Through her eyes, he could see that something inside of her was utterly shattered. "Christ!" he exclaimed before he could think. "Gin, I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, tried to speak, but couldn't quite manage it. What to say in a situation like this?

Harry slid onto the piano bench and wrapped his arms tightly around her. The warmth of his body contrasted sharply with the numbness of her mind. Her grief was too deep; she felt it too bitterly. "Pain shared is pain halved," Harry whispered in her ear. "Give it to me, Gin."

She trembled. Ginny was balanced on a razor's edge, and she was going to fall. On one side, there was nothing but the black loneliness but on the other, Harry waited to catch her. During Auror raids, the Dementor attack on Hogwarts, her fights with Mórrígan, the Chamber of Secrets, she had never been so afraid as she was now. This…this was a precipice. There was no turning back. "Let me in," he said, squeezing her tight. Ginny took a deep breath. And threw herself over.

Something snapped inside of her, uncoiled and snaked through the link. Harry felt her pain rolling through him. He took it on gladly, feeling that she'd finally set herself free. She shuddered in his arms, and a muffled sob reached his ears.

She cried for the first time in over five years. Great, panting, choking sobs that wracked her small frame and left her gasping for breath. Ginny cried for Shannon, for Osiris, for Seamus, Zalba, and Mundungus, for all the Aurors she hadn't been able to save. She cried for Ria and Gwen, whose best friend had killed their other best friend. She cried for Dana, who lived for revenge, and for Mike, who never knew what it was to have parents who loved him. She cried for Harry and the years of mistreatment he'd endured at the hands of the Dursleys, the years of emotional limbo he'd endured because he loved her. And finally, Ginny cried for herself. For the childhood stolen from her by Tom Riddle and the adolescence lost to her destiny. She cried until she had no tears left to cry and then she stilled, sagged, exhausted, into Harry's embrace.

The front of his shirt was soaked through, but he didn't notice. She raised her eyes, washed with salt tears, and gazed at him, lost, but not alone. Her expression was unguarded and open. The grief and guilt were still there, but beneath those feelings, something in Ginny had been released. The heavy weight she'd carried around her heart for the past decade, so long she'd ceased to notice its presence, had dissolved in those tears. Harry gently swept her cheeks with his thumb, wiping away the damp tracks. "A shower would help you feel better. I'll get you some clean clothes." And he'd burn that bloodstained shirt.

She nodded, and let him lead her to the bath. He turned the water on and waited for it to warm up, then gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I'll leave something outside the door for you to wear."

Ginny let the hot water pour over her. She washed all traces of Shannon's blood from her body and bathed away the stench of liquor and cigarettes that clung to her hair and skin. She scrubbed until she could scrub no more. Poking her head out the door, Ginny spotted neatly folded robes on the floor of the hall. They had been black once, but repeated washings had faded them to a comfortable gray. She pulled them inside and held them up; the length unfurled to reveal a red and gold Gryffindor patch over the breast pocket. His old school robes. A lion for courage.

She pulled the robe on over her bare skin and fastened the clasps, then wandered into the hall. She heard voices, and followed the sound to the living room.

Harry knelt in front of the fireplace. "I'll be there soon. Twenty minutes at the most."

Dumbledore's head was in the flames. "Come via the Three Broomsticks. The elves are cleaning the fireplaces today. I'll meet you in the entrance hall." With a pop, he was gone.

"You're going to Hogwarts?" Ginny asked, hugging her arms across her chest.

He stood and turned to face her. "Only for a while. I'll be right back. I need to talk to Dumbledore."

Ginny nodded and took the mug of tea he offered. She felt the magic inside; he'd put in enough sleeping potion to knock out an elephant. "You'll be back when I wake up?"

He smiled gently. "You'll never know I'm gone."

"Tell him," Ginny started, but she choked on the words and had to begin again. "Tell him I killed a Death Eater and that I hope he's happy. Tell him that from me."

Harry nodded gravely. "I was planning on it."

She thought he was teasing her, but his face was deadly serious. She looked into the tea; it seemed innocuous enough. "It'll be good for you," Harry told her. "Trust me, it's just what you need. It'll make you feel better."

Her smile was thin. "Do you promise?"

"I promise."

She couldn't argue with that, so she raised the mug in silent salute and drained it. He took it from her fingers and set it down on an end table, beside the empty tumbler of sobriety potion. "Come on," Harry said. "You can sleep in my bed."

Ginny trailed after him obediently, stood beside the bed as he turned down the covers, and then crawled inside, allowing him to tuck the duvet snugly around her shoulders. He didn't leave, but sat down beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight and Ginny sighed. She felt different compared to earlier that morning, or even compared to a week ago. There were so many emotions, countless layers of feeling circling her mind. But she was safe with Harry. She wasn't alone, for the first time in years. There was comfort in that; refuge from the pain, the crushing guilt. And with that knowledge warmly encircling her heart, Ginny's eyes closed in sleep.

Harry gently kissed her cheek, then went out to the living room, tossing a pinch of floo powder in the fireplace. "The Three Broomsticks."

*****

Harry wrapped his cloak more tightly around his body, setting his teeth against the cold January wind. He mentally rehearsed what he was going to say to the Headmaster once he reached the school. It was going to be one of the most difficult conversations of his adult life, and he was not looking forward to it. Still, there were things that needed to be said.

Harry was so engrossed with his own thoughts that he nearly walked into the tree branch that dipped low over the road. He started to move around it, but found his feet rooted to the ground. Pulling out his wand, Harry looked frantically around for the source of this spell, but the area was deserted. The snowdrifts on either side of the road were unspoiled by human footsteps, and the clear, sharp blue of the sky was the opposite of menacing.

A flurry of wings, and then a crow alighted on the branch, just at eye level. Harry knew, without knowing how he knew, that he was in the presence of a deity. Her voice, splintered and wild, spoke in his head. _You go to speak to the old man_.

He stared, and her tone grew sharp. _Are you dim witted, that you can't answer me? You're worse than Virginia. At least she has a tongue in her head, although it's usually disrespectful. I sincerely hope all mortals are not—_

"I'm going to speak to Professor Dumbledore, yes," Harry interrupted.

The bird seemed satisfied with this answer. It fixed him with one beady, all seeing eye. _You know what you must do. Why do you hesitate to do it?_

"I don't know what you're talking about."

At that, Harry felt as though an invisible hand fell on his shoulders and pressed down, so heavily that he couldn't help but fall to his knees. The cold wetness of the snow soaked through his trousers. From his spot on the ground, he raised his eyes to the bird. _Do not lie to me, mortal._

Harry knew that the Mórrígan would settle for nothing less than complete honesty, but he didn't know how to put his concerns into words. "She's the best Auror in the division, even though…well, she's the best. She's an integral part of the fight to bring down Voldemort. Dumbledore needs her."

__

I need her more. The bird fluttered its wings in agitation, shaking snowflakes loose from the branch. They floated down and lighted in his hair, stark white against the deep black of the wild locks.

"I don't understand."

At this, the goddess gave a frustrated sigh. _Yes you do. Why is it that mortals are always telling me they don't understand what it is I'm telling them, when they know perfectly well? Your Virginia does the same thing_. He stared, and the bird fluttered its wings once more. _You are a brave young man. You know what you have to do._

The goddess flew away, and the hold on his shoulders vanished. He scrambled to his feet and hurried toward the castle.

*****

"Where's Ginny?"

Harry shrugged out of his cloak and sank into a chair. "At my flat. I gave her enough sleeping potion to put a normal person out for a week, so it should last for at least a few hours."

"I saw the _Prophet_ this morning," Dumbledore said, pouring two cups of tea. "The capture of the mole is a relief to us all. And she's caught another, has she?"

Harry added three lumps of sugar. "It was Shannon Cannon."

Dumbledore stopped mid-pour, splashing tea all over the small table. He hurriedly righted the pot. "It was her friend whom Ginny sent to Azkaban last night?"

"Don't believe everything you read in the _Prophet_," Harry said coldly. "She sent her friend to St. Mungo's."

"Shannon was hurt?"

"Shannon was killed."

Dumbledore exhaled, a long, sad breath. His eyes were closed as he asked, "And she blames me, does she?"

"Yes. She's not the only one."

The old man's blue gaze locked with Harry's green one. Gone was the young boy who idolized his every move and always looked to him to make things right. A man sat across from the Headmaster now, with different priorities and the courage of his convictions. He wouldn't be handled as a child anymore, wouldn't blindly accept as gospel truth whatever Dumbledore might say. "How could I have known that Shannon was one of them?"

"You're the one who forced Ginny into this life. It wasn't her choice, and it's obvious that whatever it is she's here to do, she's not going to accomplish it by being Agent Jezebel."

"If I hadn't channeled her power to the fight against Voldemort, who knows where we'd be right now?" Dumbledore said. "She's the most powerful mage of our times."

"She's on the edge of a breakdown!" Harry snapped. "And that just shows what you know about her."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you know that she hasn't done magic in over a month? That I haven't even _seen_ her with a wand in that time? Her power is so strong…her ring focuses it, and then her wand focuses it again…she broke someone's _leg_ last month, doing a simple healing charm! She can't expose that she's the Pendragon; you've drilled that into her hard enough. So she copes with the development of her powers by refusing to use them, putting herself in danger, placing her destiny as the Pendragon second to being an Auror! And this is all because of your insistence that she conform to what _you_ think she should be. Her abilities have been stupidly mishandled, causing her goddess knows how much pain, but not any more."

"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

Harry's hands fisted in his lap. This was it. "After I leave here, I'm going straight to the Ministry and I'm going to give Catherine Ginny's resignation."

"You can't do that," Dumbledore said sharply.

"I _will_ do that. The fight against Voldemort…we can handle it. The light side still has you, and me, and Ron, and the rest of the Division. It'll be fine."

"We need her powers, Harry. Don't you understand that?"

"She wants out so badly she disabled her own emergency Portkey. You don't care about her powers, not really. You never wanted a Pendragon," Harry said, standing and pulling on his cloak. "You wanted a super-Auror. The division forced her to become something it's not in her nature to be. It's like shoving a square peg into a round hole. She's tried her best to fit, but it just won't work."

He grasped the door handle, and Dumbledore said, "Voldemort killed your parents. Ginny is the best chance we have to defeat him."

"Ginny is not a _chance_," he said without turning around. "She's a person who's afraid and hurting and needs to make her own decisions for once. _She_, not the fight against Voldemort, is my topmost priority. I should've done this a long time ago."

The Headmaster sighed, knowing there was no way to dissuade Harry from this course of action. "You'll owl me with any news?"

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the old man. "I will. I promise." Then, with a sweep of his cloak, he was gone.

*****

The room was silent. Draco's gaze played over the faces of his faction; they all stared at Delia, who had been the one to break the news. They were a close group, and the loss of one of their own shook them all. Blaise in particular was a wreck. "I gave her the gun," he muttered, knifing his fingers through his curls. "Last year, Ginny froze when she saw the gun; I thought it could work again."

Draco squeezed his friend's arm. "Keep your eyes on the goal," he told the room at large. "Shannon was one of Ginny's closest friends. Ten to one says our Pendragon will spend the next few weeks seriously questioning everything she's ever been told about Death Eaters being evil. We can turn this to our advantage."

"Don't you ever stop strategizing?" Blaise asked miserably.

"No," Draco replied without hesitation. "And if we don't fully exploit Ginny's inevitable uncertainty, Shannon will have died for nothing. Is that what you want, Blaise?"

His friend was silent for a moment. Then, softly, "No. That's not what I want."

"All right then," Draco said, satisfied. He turned back to the room at large. "Let's hold off on another kidnap attempt. We have to give Ginny some time to rationalize away all the propaganda Dumbledore and Potter have been feeding her."

"Draco," a Death Eater said urgently, "do you really think we can afford to wait? The Dark Lord is planning another sacrifice—"

"I _know_, Elliot," Draco said, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. "I assure you, it's foremost in my mind."

"We can't let him…do you know how close he is? I heard from Mrs. Lestrange that this time—"

"I _know_!" Draco interrupted. "I'm second in command of the entire damned organization; you think I'm not paying attention to what's going on? The sacrifice will go on as planned, and there's _nothing_ we can do about it. Not even if we took Ginny Weasley tonight. We'd still have to convince her, make her see things our way. That could take _months_. If we don't spend the time now and let her do half our work for us, our jobs will be infinitely harder once we _do_ manage to take her."

"You're saying that we're just going to let him—"

"I'm saying that we don't have a choice," Draco sighed, looking around the room at his followers. "I don't like it any more than you do, but the Pendragon should be able to undo much of the damage."

"You hope," Blaise whispered loud enough for only Draco to hear.

Draco turned to look at his friend and nodded, eyes half closed with exhaustion. "I hope."

*****

Harry used _Alohamora_ to open the door to Ginny's flat, then quietly shut the door behind him. He didn't want to alert her neighbors to his presence.

The place was small, and crowded with books. They covered every available surface, and were also stacked in countless piles on the floors of every room. Ginny didn't sleep well, he knew. She often had insomnia, and when she did manage to get to sleep she was plagued by nightmares more often than not. The books had kept her company through years of long, empty nights. They carried her away to worlds where she was not the Pendragon, where she was not Agent Jezebel, where she was nothing but an observer of the lives of others. She read voraciously, devoured the words, hungry for the escape they afforded her.

He poked around until he came up with a few tattered paperbacks – _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ and _The Taín_ – remnants of her youth. He flipped open the cover of the mythology volume and read the inscription, scrawled in untidy penmanship. _Happy Christmas, Ginny, from your friend, Mike Fletcher_. He found a canvas bag and dropped the books inside, then went into the back, to her bedroom.

It, like the rest of her flat, was cluttered and untidy. The bed was unmade, tangled sheets bunched at the end of the mattress. Clothes were all over the floor, and he waded through them to her bureau, sorting through the drawers, pulling out things for her to wear. He chose comfortable trousers and jeans, button-down shirts and pullovers. He located a pair of trainers (and quite a few dust bunnies) under her bed, then rooted through her top drawer for socks. She'd need underclothes as well; Harry felt strangely guilty and intrusive, sorting through the scraps of lace and cotton, but soon those, too, were packed away.

He thought he should perhaps clear out her kitchen, not knowing how long it would be before she came back here. He was surprised to see, however, that her refrigerator contained only a bottle of soda water and half an orange. A search of her cabinets turned up a box of powdered breakfast drink and some vodka. "Gods, Gin," he muttered under his breath. "How the hell do you live like this?" But he knew the answer. She _didn't_ live like this. She barely lived at all.

He found her toothbrush and cosmetics bag, gave the flat a once-over to see if he'd forgotten anything she might need and, convinced he'd thought of everything, Harry left for the Ministry.

*****

Ginny stirred, then cracked her eyes open just enough to see that she wasn't in her own bed. After a moment's confusion, her memories rushed back. She killed Shannon. She got pissed out of her skull and showed up at Mike and Dana's flat. She cried in front of Harry, opened up her emotional barricade and shared her anguish.

The guilt and grief were still there; she felt them keenly, spearing through her chest, sticking in her throat. But underneath, she felt better than she'd felt in years. Something inside her, something fundamental to what made her Ginny Weasley, had altered permanently. And this made the weight of her guilt even more impossibly heavy. What right did she have to feel relief, when Shannon was dead because of her? The ever-present darkness sculpted by Tom Riddle's master hand had faded to a shadow of its former self; how dare she glory in her newfound lightness of being when her friend had been a Death Eater and Ginny had never noticed, never had the chance to talk her out of it?

They said that when people are branded with Voldemort's mark, nothing and no one matters to them anymore. They're lost to the Dark Lord forever. But it wasn't true; it _couldn't_ be true. Shannon wasn't like that. There were plenty of people who mattered to her. Just a few weeks ago, Ginny had attended a birthday party for Shannon's niece, aged two. That little girl mattered to Shannon; she doted on her brother's daughter, spoiled and cuddled and _loved_ her. And the entire time, she wore a Dark Mark on her arm. Somewhere along the way, someone had lied to Ginny about the nature of Dark Wizards. They couldn't be a homogeneous group; no group was. If there were differences of motivation and temperament within the Auror Division, as Dana Silvermoon was living proof, then there must be within the Death Eater ranks as well.

She had no idea that she was playing right into Draco Malfoy's hands.

"You're awake," Harry said softly, helping her sit up. "You must be parched."

She was. Dry mouth was an unfortunate side effect of sleeping potion. Ginny gladly accepted the glass of water he offered, and sipped it slowly, wetting her tongue, letting the liquid slide down her throat. "What time is it?"

"Two o'clock."

Ginny groaned. "Catherine was expecting my report hours ago. I need to get to work."

"She's not expecting your report," Harry said, sitting on the bed, facing her. His eyes were very serious.

"What do you mean, she's not expecting it? I made a…capture," her throat caught on the word, "last night. Procedure is—"

"I turned in your resignation."

The water glass slipped from Ginny's fingers. It landed on the thick carpet with a dull thump, its contents darkening the luxurious fabric. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not," he said, reaching out and loosely threading his fingers through hers. "You don't have to go back there, Gin, not ever again, unless you want to. It's your choice now."

She didn't know what to say. "This is why you wanted to see Dumbledore." Harry nodded, and she asked, "How did he take the news?"

"What does it matter?"

It didn't. What wild knowledge to have – for once in her life, it _didn't_ matter what Dumbledore wanted her to do. She didn't have to follow his orders; she wasn't an Auror anymore. That brought practical considerations crashing through her mind. "Um…I need to have a job, Harry. I have to pay my bills, you know, and my rent, and—"

"You can stay here as long as you'd like," he interrupted. "I stopped by your flat and packed some things, enough for a week. You shouldn't be alone just now anyway. You can stay until you find a new job, or even…"

Forever. The word didn't make it to his lips, but it was in his eyes.

"I'll stay for a week," she breathed. After that, she didn't know. Harry had given her freedom. She didn't know how to thank him. _I killed my best friend_, she said, tears pooling once again in her eyes. _What kind of terrible person am I, that I can feel so lucky after what I've done?_

Gin, he said softly, pulling her into his arms. There was an undeniable intimacy that went hand in hand with talking directly into each other's minds. _You're not a terrible person. You've been miserable for so long that you've forgotten what it feels like to simply be…sad._ The words felt like a vise around his heart. How awful for her, that grief at the death of a close friend felt like elation compared to the black emotional pit she'd been living in for years. _It's all right._

"Harry," she said, her cheeks damp with tears, "what am I going to say to her parents?"

He pulled her into his lap and she curled up against his chest; he rocked her gently back and forth, stroking his hand over her hair. "They already know, Gin. I saw Ria this afternoon at the Ministry. She and Gwen went to the Cannons' house this morning, and were with them when Catherine arrived to break the news."

"Catherine did it herself?"

"They're prominent members of the community," he said softly. "She thought it would be best if they heard it from the Division head. Ria wanted me to tell you," he paused, cleared his throat, "the funeral is in two days, at the Temple to the Otherworld. She thought you'd want to know."

"I can't go," Ginny said flatly, fisting his shirt in her hands. "How could I go? Her family…I can't show up and add to their pain. Let them say goodbye to her without her killer in the room."

"Ria said you'd feel that way." He held her until she calmed somewhat, then spoke again. "She and Gwen are coming by later. They want to see you, and make sure you're all right."

"I can't see them," Ginny whispered, silent tears running down her face. "How am I ever going to face them again?"

"They're worried sick about you," Harry told her. "They don't blame you for what happened. Not at all. Ria said that after Gwen found out the news, her first thought was to find you and make sure you were all right."

Ginny sniffled, "That's Gwen. She's not like other people."

"I know. Neither is Ria. They love you, Gin. They want to say so to your face. It's the only way you're going to believe it. Will you see them when they come by?"

"I don't know."

He didn't press her. It wasn't a flat out refusal, which was good enough for now.

*****

Gwen and Ria looked nervously across the room at Ginny, who sat on Harry's sofa, knees drawn up to her chest. The silence stretched out for a nearly unbearable length of time before Ginny, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly, whispered, "I'm so sorry."

The two young women raced across the room, smothered her in embraces, words of reassurance and compassion, tears and vows that the three of them would always be the best of friends. That afternoon, the burden of Ginny's guilt grew a little bit lighter.

The next week was full of visits; Ria and Gwen spent several hours a day in Harry's living room. Sometimes Esme would come too; sometimes she'd tactfully stay behind to allow Shannon's best friends to mourn in private. An endless parade of Weasleys also tramped through the flat. All of her brothers had come to keep her company at least three times, except for Charlie who was in Germany on a mission for Dumbledore. But he owled twice a day, just to see how she was doing and let her know that his assignment was going well.

Her parents came too, to persuade her to come home to the Burrow. Her mother was a conservative type, and couldn't help but disapprove of her daughter staying with a man, even if that man was Harry. "Come home," she'd said. "You need to be with your family."

The first words to fly to Ginny's lips were that this was where she belonged right now, that Harry understood and sympathized much better than her parents ever could, for all that she loved them. But those feelings were too new. She couldn't, _wouldn't_, damage their delicate fragility by saying them out loud. Instead, she shook her head and promised to owl regularly, and her parents had to be content with that much.

One afternoon, Harry went to answer a knock at the door and found Mike Fletcher standing in the hall. "Is she home?"

"Yes," he said, not moving to let the younger man in.

Mike pressed his lips together in frustration. "Can I see her?"

"Hang on." Harry shut the door in Mike's face and went out to the living room, where Ginny was curled up in an armchair, finding comfort in the familiar words of _The Taín_. "Mike wants to know if you're up for a visit."

She slowly shut the book, looked up at Harry, and nodded. He turned from the room, jerked the door open, and stood aside. "She's in there," he told Mike, motioning with his head to the living room door.

Mike scooped Ginny up in a fierce hug the moment he saw her. He didn't speak, didn't offer any words of comfort or consolation, just held her. He couldn't comprehend the kind of pain she was in right now. He'd spent the last week trying to imagine how he'd feel if he'd accidentally killed Ginny, and came up empty each time. There were no words to express what she must be feeling and by extension, no words to make it better. All he could do was to be there for her.

After an hour of idle, empty chat, Mike cleared his throat. Ginny asked, "Did you come here to say something specific?"

He wondered how she knew. "Come to my flat, Gin. You can stay there; we have a second bedroom."

"I—"

"Hear me out," he interrupted. "Everyone knows how Potter feels about you, and you're…vulnerable right now. It's not a good idea for you to stay with him."

"Are you saying he might take advantage of me?" Ginny asked with a wry smile. She'd never heard of anything so ludicrous.

"No!" Mike flushed. He didn't want to think about Harry and Ginny together like…_that_. It was a nasty mental image. "I just mean that you need some distance. Emotions are hard enough to understand usually. Even more so when you're seeing him every day, and dealing with Shannon, and…I just think that my place would be better for you. He might not _want_ to take advantage, but you're grateful to him, and you could wind up mistaking gratitude for…something else."

"Well," Ginny muttered, "that's not insulting or anything. Trust me, I'm not mistaking gratitude for anything other than what it is."

"But how do you _know_?" Mike asked urgently. "I wouldn't be saying this unless I thought there was reason to be concerned. Let me pack up your things. Stay with Dana and me for a few nights before you go back to your own flat. Your car is still in our lot anyway; you need to get it back."

Ginny looked at him uneasily. "Do you really think I'm so confused?"

"I think you wouldn't know it if you were. How could you, here? Come with me. Let us take care of you for a few days. What harm is there in that?"

She looked at her hands for a long minute, and then reluctantly nodded. Mike jumped up off the sofa. "I'll get your things."

He jogged into the kitchen, where Harry scowled over a peanut butter sandwich. "You're finally leaving, then?"

"I am," Mike said. "And I'm taking Ginny with me. Where are her things?"

Harry was out of his chair like a shot. "You're _what_?" he asked, his tone dangerous.

"She's coming to my place. She can't stay here with you, not considering the way you feel about her and how vulnerable she is right now."

"And she agreed to this?"

"Of course she did," Mike said impatiently. "She's sensible enough, isn't she? Where are her things?"

"In the bedroom," Harry said, flopping back into his chair. "All over the floor." His tone turned irritated. "Oh, for gods' sake. Don't look like that. I've been sleeping on the sofa."

Mike gave a curt nod, and then disappeared back into the hall. Harry sighed with frustration. She was leaving, and there was nothing he could do about it. Damn Fletcher to a hundred different kinds of hell for this. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, Harry was sure.

He couldn't stay here and watch her leave. He just didn't have it in him. So Harry did what was probably most cowardly thing he'd ever done; he walked quietly into the foyer, took his coat from the coat rack, and silently let himself out. He'd come back in a few hours, when he was sure they'd be gone.

*****

Several hours later, Ginny lay in the guest bed at Mike's flat, looking at the ceiling. She couldn't sleep. There were too many thoughts swirling around her mind, keeping her awake, demanding her attention. Mike had offered her distance. Well, now that she had it, she might as well use it.

__

You're vulnerable right now, Mike had said. Only last week, that would have been the worst, most deadly insult anyone could have leveled against her, rather like the word _weak_ was with Mórrígan. But now? What was so wrong with being vulnerable? She had opened herself up to Harry. She shared her pain with him, and she felt better afterwards. There was none of the shame and degradation that accompanied her conversations with Tom. Harry had eased her pain – it seemed like such a fundamental, simple revelation, but in reality it rocked her to the core.

She was different. And it was a _good_ difference.

He'd given her patience, understanding, compassion, her _freedom_…while she slept, he'd gone to Dumbledore, to the Ministry, and given her choices back to her. It wasn't firestone earrings or a gown from Gladrags, but it was the most precious gift she'd ever received.

The power to determine her life was finally handed back to her, and what had she done? She'd let Mike make a decision for her, a decision she wouldn't have made if it had been left to her. Her friend meant well, but Ginny hadn't wanted to leave Harry's flat, not really. It wasn't too late, though. She had choices now. It was such a marvelous thought. She could hardly believe it wasn't about to be snatched away.

But what to do? It had been so long since she'd had control of her life. From now on, if she were unhappy, it would be no one's fault but her own. And goddess above, she was wretchedly tired of being unhappy.

Harry loved her. He'd loved her a full quarter of his life. And she loved him too, for much, much longer than that. He wanted to share in every part of her, but she was afraid. No, she _had been_ afraid. But…the darkness had faded. Her inner temple, the place within that housed everything that made her who she was, had exploded in a conflagration of tears and pain and Harry and now she had the rare, precious opportunity to rebuild. The Chamber of Secrets would always be with her, but it was no longer all of her. What was there to be afraid of now? _He'd made her feel better_. And, really, what was anything else compared to that?

She'd done enough pondering for one night. Her nature wasn't leant to introspection; she preferred actions to thoughts. Ginny climbed out of bed, wriggled into her clothes, and barged out of her room. She stood in the hall for a moment, at a loss, then raised her right hand. "_Accio_ keys."

Her car keys flew out of the living room and she snatched them neatly from the air. Ginny couldn't hold back the small thrill in her stomach at what she was about to do, and she quietly let herself out of the flat.

*****

Harry knew the moment she entered the room. Without his glasses, she was nothing but a blurry shape but it was Ginny, without a doubt. He sat up and reached over, flicking the lamp on.

Ginny blinked at the sudden light, then looked at Harry who sat up in bed, his emerald eyes pinning her to the spot. His chest was bare and his hair tousled. She could just barely make out the scar beneath. "I thought you went to Mike's."

Ginny was suddenly nervous, her throat dry. What if he wasn't glad to see her? "I changed my mind," she whispered.

"And?"

She took a step closer to the bed, then another, until she stood beside it, looking down at him. "And I came here instead."

He didn't move closer to her, didn't betray by expression or words any part of what he was feeling. "Why?"

Ginny thought that this was, somehow, the most important question she'd ever been asked and that she'd damn well better be able to come up with a satisfactory answer. She knew then that there was only one reply he'd accept, but it didn't seem like enough. How could three words, eight letters, contain the kind of emotion that was coursing freely, riotously through her? How to express her fear, her elation, her uncertainty and self-consciousness, her gratitude and friendship and grief, the exquisite sharpness that closed around her heart when she looked at him, and everything else she was feeling?

At her hesitation, his eyelids slid closed and he sighed. "Gin, I don't know what you're playing at, but there's only so much of this I can handle. Why did you come back here?"

She opened her mouth, and the words slid out of their own volition, sprang from the very deepest corner of her heart, where she'd locked them away all those years ago. "Because I love you."

He visibly tensed. His eyes flew open and he lunged for the bedside table, fumbling for his glasses. Once they were perched on his nose he looked up at her, eyes wide, once again the eleven-year-old learning that he was special, that he belonged to a world of magic and wonder. His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "_What did you say_?"

"I love you," she repeated, tears springing to her eyes at how very liberating it was to finally allow herself to tell him so. "You're my choice, Harry Potter."

With a rough cry, he snaked his arm around her waist and jerked her down onto the bed, covering her mouth with a fierce, hungry kiss. There was passion and desire, lips and tongues and teeth, mingled breath and unrelenting emotion. _I'm not going to let you take it back_, he said in her mind.

__

I'd never want to, she answered, her fingers tangling with his hair. She felt an odd dampness on her cheeks and realized she was crying again. Skating her palms around to frame his face, she found that he was too.

Ginny couldn't hold back a soft moan as his fingers quickly divested her of her clothing, and she stretched her hand towards the bedroom door. A flash of silver, and it slammed shut, closing them inside.

*****

A/N part two: Has anyone ever told you you'd make a great muse? Come join the HP Pendragon yahoo group! We have cookies, outtakes, writing challenges, fanart, and the best group of muses on the planet. Plus, they get to read new installments several days before they're posted to the websites. I'd love to see you there. groups.yahoo.com/group/hppendragon is the place to be.

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! You all are my heroes!

prongz; Athena; Zandith Owens [thanks for one of the loveliest reviews I've ever received. I read it about ten times]; Unregistered; Ayla Pascal; xc_smooth; tigger; suze; Lana Potter; fuchsia; uhh; Lunarian; marysia; filwdork; nickie; ProfessorJewels; and everyone who emailed me or reviewed on the yahoo group. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Each and every one of you is appreciated.

Drop me a line anytime at _irina@schnoogle.com_. I love getting email, and I always write back.

The chapter has now ended.


	2. Our Lady of Death

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Title and Chapter: Galatea Chapter two: "Our Lady of Death" (2/?) 

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Author Name: Irina

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Author Email: irina@schnoogle.com

Category: Action/Adventure

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Keywords: destiny, adventure, Pendragon, mythology, post-Hogwarts

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Rating: R for violence, adult situations, and language

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Spoilers: All four books

Summary: _Galatea_ is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in _The Rebirth_, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry…and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess – it's going to be a wild ride. [Sequel to _The Rebirth_.]

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Galatea is the sequel to my first fic, "The Rebirth," and the second fic in what has been dubbed The Mórrígna Trilogy. Since Galatea is a sequel, please do read "The Rebirth" first to cut down on confusion. It's a great story; I promise you won't be sorry. Thanks to Danette and DRI, my beta readers, to Bertie for being herself, and to all of my lovely muses at the HP Pendragon yahoo group. If you'd like to join them, point your browser to groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon. I'd love to see you there. Danette gets an extra thank you for helping with the chapter's first scene. Remember, folks, feedback makes me a better writer, which translates to a better story for you to read. This story is rated R. The characters are adults and, as such, occasionally use adult words and find themselves in adult situations. Also, there's some violence in this chapter. Just so you know.

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Chapter Two

Our Lady of Death

Thou ominous and fearful owl of death,

Our nation's terror and their bloody scourge!

The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 

--William Shakespeare, _Henry VI, pt. I_

Draco wandered into the library. He was restless this evening, and didn't know what to do with himself. He was killing time, waiting for it to be night, for the sacrifice. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was _something_ he should be doing. That it wasn't hopeless. But it was, he knew. If he interfered, he would die. He hoped Ginny would be able to fix it, but he wasn't going to hold his breath.

At the other end of the room, Draco spotted Delia Silvermoon hunched over a table poring over three books at once. Perhaps reading wouldn't provide adequate distraction, but a gorgeous redhead just might. Sighing inwardly and turning up the corners of his mouth in his trademark smirk, he walked over to stand behind her.

"What are you reading?" he asked, his voice low and smooth. Experience taught him that what he said didn't matter so much as how he said it. Draco could infuse even the most innocent question with sensual undertones. It was a gift.

She made a note on her parchment. "I found these with your father's books. It has several spells and potions I haven't seen anywhere else, and they're quite old. Most have become obsolete because they require Otherworldly magic."

"Do you think you can learn these spells?" he asked, leaning over her, letting his breath flutter her hair.

"If I can't, then my sister might be able to," Delia replied, goosebumps running up her arms. "Stop reading over my shoulder. It's distracting."

"Why don't you give me a…demonstration…of your magical talents?" he suggested. "We could go back to my rooms, have the elves bring us dinner..."

"Not interested," Delia said without even lifting her gaze from the heavy tome she was consulting.

Draco blinked. "I beg your pardon?" He leaned in closer, his chest a mere centimeter from her back, the warmth of his body creeping through her robes. "I'm not proposing marriage. Just a bit of fun. You work too hard. Even I make time for...amusement."

"Alicia Avery found out the hard way that your idea of amusement isn't always amusing," Delia said, making another mark on her parchment. 

"Alicia Avery was a traitor in the making," he replied, his tone a little more snappish than he would've liked. Draco winced inwardly. Seduction wasn't accomplished by biting the girl's head off. He recovered quickly, his voice once again smooth, "You, on the other hand, are loyal and, I've no doubt, a sight more…amusing…than Alicia. Come upstairs, Delia. You've been in here for hours."

"Why don't you find Pansy Parkinson? I understand she's always up for...what was it you said? A bit of fun." She invested the words with the same breathy, sensual tone he had used, and Draco clenched his teeth. He sometimes got the feeling that, inside, she was laughing at him.

It had been worth a try. "If you change your mind," he said, "you know where to find me." Draco grabbed a book of the shelf at random and left without looking back. He didn't glance at the title until he was halfway up the stairs. _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. It was going to be a long night.

*****

Harry was sound asleep, one arm thrown over his head, the other around her waist, fingers curled into her skin, anchoring her against him. Ginny gazed pensively at his face. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, prickly hairs that had rasped across her body, creating sensations that swung from the merely ticklish to the deliciously, maddeningly sensual. His nose, slightly snubbed at the end, was nevertheless straight. His eyes moved in his sleep, causing his lids to twitch and fluttering his long, sooty lashes. And there, on his forehead, just visible beneath the tangle of black hair, was the lightning shaped scar. So many things to so many people – the scar that inspired awe, pity, occasionally envy, for Harry, sorrow at the loss of his parents, for Voldemort, fear, and for Ginny, fascination. He wore the mark of his destiny right on his face, plain for all to see.

Ginny sent a quiet prayer of thanks to Lily Evans-Potter, wherever she may be, for her sacrifice. She thanked Harry's mother, the woman whom, when she was only Ginny's age, gave her life so Harry could live. So he could grow up, play Quidditch, fabricate his Divination homework, make the toast at Ron's wedding, be Ginny's protector and her love. The Pendragon's whispered gratitude to the woman to whom she owed so much soared to the world of the dead on silver wings of happiness, just as Ginny had known it would. A moment later, she was enveloped in a warm cocoon of peace. Her prayer had been received and acknowledged.

As she watched him sleep, Ginny felt a certain kinship with Lily Potter. Was this fierce protectiveness anything like what his mother had felt, looking at her infant son and knowing that, when called, she would do whatever was necessary to keep him safe? Ginny knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that, if need be, she would kill for him. She also knew that, without a question, she would die for him.

And _that_ realization was what propelled her out of bed. She gingerly eased out of his embrace and slid out from under the covers, locating his old school robes right where she'd left them, wadded up in a ball in the corner of his closet. She needed to think.

Things had moved with astonishing speed once she'd arrived at his flat. He'd pulled her into bed before she'd known what was happening. Not that Ginny was complaining – she had been a more than willing participant and it had been wonderful, just as she'd known it would be. It was the _closeness_ that Ginny had trouble getting used to. Not the physical closeness, she was used enough to that, but the emotional ferocity that accompanied their intimacy was something utterly new and not a little frightening. Already, after only one night, she felt a deepening of her connection with Harry. It went beyond the link in their minds, beyond the love in their hearts; it was imprinted in their bodies, made real and tangible by what they had just shared.

Ginny wandered out onto the balcony off of his living room, the cold cement burning, then numbing, the bare soles of her feet. Harry's building was one of several arranged around a private, fenced in park. Right now, a blanket of snow coated the ground and the trees were lacey with ice. It was beautiful in the summer, though, with thick green grass and leafy shade, the perfume of flowers and the mad, wild trill of birds. She looked out over the snowy night, the city sounds of cars and people seeming very remote.

Standing on the balcony, arms wrapped tightly around her to ward off the cold, Ginny allowed herself to think back on the past week, to think about Shannon. If only her sight had been on. If only she'd torn her concentration away from the gun for one moment and listened to the symphony in the back of her mind. If only she'd questioned Shannon more closely when she'd recognized the anti-Muggle slant of her columns. If only she'd warned Shannon about Blaise Zabini. If only…. If only… Ginny could kill herself with if onlys. Shannon was dead. Ginny hadn't paid close attention to her powers, hadn't thought something like this could ever happen to someone she cared about. What's done was done. There was no way to go back. The only direction she could move was forward. With Harry. She'd reached a bend in the road, and couldn't ask for a better companion for the years ahead.

Behind her, the glass door slid open. "Isn't it a bit cold for stargazing?" he asked, walking up behind her and closing his arms around her waist. His torso and feet were bare, but he'd donned a pair of trousers.

"I was just thinking," she said, leaning back against him, her touch sending a gentle warming charm into his skin.

"About what?" His breath tickled her ear and his stubble scratched her cheek, making her giggle. Harry grinned at the sound. "It can't have been too serious then."

"About Shannon," Ginny said quietly, no longer laughing. "Going over all the things I could've and should've done, the warning signs that were right there, just waiting for me to notice – "

"Gin, she pulled a gun on you," Harry interrupted.

"She was scared out of her mind," Ginny countered. "You weren't there. You didn't see it. She didn't want to hurt me. But I was an Auror and she was…one of them."

His arms tightened around her waist. "There was no way you could've known what she was. Nothing you could've done differently."

Ginny turned and rested her cold cheek against his warm chest, causing the muscles beneath his skin to tighten in shock at the sudden temperature change. "I've been saying so for the past week, but it's not true, is it? All I had to do was look at her, _really_ look at her – "

"That's not fair," Harry interrupted. "This power you have…using it on your closest friends…invasion of privacy, remember? Gin, Shannon made her choice. You didn't have a choice. Grieve for her, but don't feel guilty."

He didn't understand but, then, Ginny hadn't really expected him to. It was a situation difficult to empathize with, and she didn't hold it against him. Then, he leaned his head down and whispered against her ear, "I love you."

She responded in kind. "I love you too." As far as he was concerned, it was nothing short of a miracle. He wanted to stand here forever, telling her how he felt and having her say it back. He wanted everyone in England to be as happy as he was right now. He wanted to take her back to bed. Of the three, the last was most feasible.

Ginny interrupted his train of thought when she brought her hand up to his collarbone and brushed her fingers over a red mark. "What happened?"

He deadpanned, "Somebody bit me."

Ginny gasped with embarrassed laughter. Harry smiled at the blush that stole across her cheekbones. "If you'd like," he said, "we could go back inside and you could apologize properly." He found her chagrin absolutely charming.

"Are you laughing at me?" she demanded.

"No," he lied. "Come inside."

Ginny got a wicked glint in her eyes. "Why bother? I'm just fine out here." She stretched her body against his and dotted kisses along his chin.

At her suggestion and the look of mischievous desire on her face, Harry felt a dull red flush creep across his cheeks. She could dish it out just as well as she could take it. "Um…I don't think so."

She trailed her nails lightly down his back, raising gooseflesh on his arms. "Why not?"

"Because I have neighbors. I don't think…they…would appreciate…" He trailed off as her lips found his. Four, five, six kisses later, Harry finally managed a tenuous grasp on his need. "Let's go back inside," he murmured thickly.

Ginny brushed her lips across the bite mark. "Okay."

He was surprised. "Okay?"

She smiled. "Sure. I'm cold."

He pulled her inside and slid the door shut. "I can fix that."

After, she slept just as soundly as he.

*****

He was cold. That's really all Draco was focused on at the moment. It was freezing in these woods; the snow was thick on the ground and his breath came in puffs of white. He couldn't believe he'd been desperate enough to read _Magical Herbs and Fungi_. How far he'd sunk.

The other Death Eaters stood in a circle around the yew tree, masked and hooded as he was. He could tell some of them by their shoes; Blaise stood on the other side of the ring, his hands pulled up inside his sleeves for warmth. Draco wore black gloves. They suited his image. They kept his hands clean.

The Dark Lord stood beneath the tree, in the circle of dead grass that had been cleared of snow by junior Death Eaters. His smile was ghastly. A hush of anticipation hung over the circle.

A shriek of terror shattered the winter stillness. Heads turned; Crabbe and Goyle the younger dragged a struggling man into their midst. The excitement in the circle grew to a fever pitch. Draco kept his stance relaxed and fought to keep the disgust out of his eyes. Impassivity would carry him through. He was good at hiding his thoughts behind a mask of boredom. One more night wouldn't make a difference.

The man writhed and kicked, struggled to free himself. The Dark Lord motioned to his second in command; Draco inwardly steeled his resolve and drew a vial of Drought of Living Death from his pocket. The glass was specially formulated to dissolve on contact with human saliva – a Severus Snape original.

Crabbe and Goyle pinned the man to the ground, one holding his legs, the other his arms. Draco crouched down and looked into the prisoner's face, his gray gaze locking with the man's terrified green one. In that moment, the man knew he was going to die. Draco saw the unwilling acceptance, even as he continued to struggle. He grasped the man's chin and tried to pull his mouth open, but the prisoner locked his lips together. With a cool, businesslike gesture, Draco brought his gloved fingers up to the man's nose and pinched it closed. The prisoner held out as long as possible, then opened his mouth to gasp for air, and the moment his lips parted, Draco shoved the vial inside. The glass vanished, and the potion spilled into his mouth. Two seconds later, the prisoner was unconscious. Draco's eyes had been the last thing he would ever see.

Standing and brushing bits of snow and dirt off of his trousers, Draco stepped back and let his old roommates haul the limp body over to the waiting circle. The Dark Lord drew his knife, the twisted steel glinting in the frigid moonlight. Then, in one smooth motion, he bent down and carved two runes into the man's face, one on each cheek. The blade sliced deeply through skin and muscle; blood welled from the lines and poured onto the ground.

Then, the chanting started. Draco didn't understand the words; the Dark Lord had found them in one of the scrolls and the Death Eaters had learned them off phonetically. Voldemort was probably the only one who knew what they meant. He joined in, because he could not afford to draw attention to himself by not doing so.

Someone threw a rope around the tree branch. The prisoner was hoisted up. His strangled gasps for air echoed through the night, drowning out the chanted invocation of the Dark Wizards. His body twitched and convulsed in its death throes. Just before his life departed, Voldemort drew his hand back and sliced open the prisoner's stomach. Draco's hands fisted convulsively as the steel bit into flesh and the man's intestines spilled out, tumbling to the ground in long purple strings. A fevered cry went up from the circle, and they fell their victim.

Their hands were washed in blood as they used it to smear runes onto the tree bark. Draco stood, arms crossed across his chest, and watched their frenzy – the chanting, the gore, the hot smell of death on the cold night, the Dark Lord's followers, their hands and feet stained red with the life of this man. Draco had nothing against killing. It was sometimes needed; he'd done it himself, more often than he could count. But this delight in slaughter, the torture, the messiness of these sacrifices repulsed him. Killing for revenge or out of necessity…this was understandable. But to delight and revel in it, to lose control of one's bloodlust…it was foreign to his nature. His barely concealed disdain for the proceedings mingled with his true, honest fear of what would happen at the end.

The runes were drawn. The circle was painted. The chanting was complete. And now Voldemort stepped back, out of the pool of blood, and raised his arms to the empty sky. His high pitched voice cried out in an ancient language as wind whipped their robes. The three crows were quickly dispatched and strung up beside the man.

Draco watched.

Fire blazed, its momentary heat making the coppery smell of blood and bile just that much stronger. Draco's stomach heaved, but he showed no indication of it. Cool detachment, he reminded himself. It was almost over.

The flames vanished, leaving the grass scorched and blackened beneath the eviscerated body. At the Dark Lord's feet, something glistened. Despair closed around Draco's chest in cold bands of iron as Voldemort bent down to pick it up, and then held it aloft in his long, bone-white fingers. It was a ring. A black ring, completely opaque. "Our Lady shows us her favor for years of faithful devotion. Badb is a generous goddess," Voldemort declared.

Magic knifed through the woods as he slid the magical talisman onto his finger. Draco shut his eyes against the sight. There was nothing for it now. Ginny was their only hope.

*****

An explosion of blinding agony jerked Harry from sleep. His scar was on fire. He pressed his palm to it and tried to breathe through the pain and it did help, a little. When he cracked his eyes open, though, he gasped in shock. Ginny lay on the bed next to him, the sheets tangled around her body. Her skin glowed bright white; silver power poured out from her and illuminated the entire room. Her eyes, wide open, stared at the ceiling as her mouth gasped in vain for air. Harry sat up and looked around in panic for the cause of her distress, but saw nothing.

Ginny couldn't breathe. She was suffocating under the weight of the horrible, sticky black magic. It pinned her in place and spread across her mouth and nose, smothering her, blocking off her air. Ginny's vision began to close off, black spots danced in front of her eyes, and then, just as suddenly as it had started, the dark power vanished. Air rushed into her lungs as she rolled over and gagged, then raised her watery eyes to Harry.

"Are you all right?" he gasped.

She nodded weakly, unable to speak.

"My scar," he whispered, hand still pressed to his forehead. "I had a dream…."

She'd had it too.

Still weak, Ginny raised one silver hand, nudging his aside and pressing her palm to his scar. Her skin was ice-cold and almost immediately eased the fiery pain. He stared. "You're glowing." His voice was still nothing more than a whisper.

Her arm fell to her side and, her chest still heaving, Ginny said in his mind, _I can't help it._

"What's happened? What was Voldemort doing?"

__

I don't know. How am I supposed to know? As her breath slowly came back, Ginny reached inside of herself for her silver power and wrestled it into submission. It was exhausting; the magic didn't want to submit to her will. It wanted to fly out and cover the world, to find what had spurred it to life. The light that poured from her skin faded.

"We need to talk to Dumbledore," Harry declared. "What happened just now…Voldemort has been getting help from somewhere, Dumbledore thinks. This might tell him something that it can't tell us."

"That poor man," Ginny murmured under her breath.

"Was that how Professor Moody looked?" Harry asked.

She nodded mutely, and he pulled her close. Now that she no longer glowed, her body was once again warm. "They're beasts," Ginny said quietly.

"What's going on, that it would make your power react that way?"

She raised her head up a little and met his eyes, luminous in the dark room. "I'm afraid to find out."

"We'll go to Hogwarts in the morning," Harry declared. "He has to know. Maybe he'll have some information for us."

"Doubtful," Ginny said, her lack of respect for the Headmaster obvious in her tone. She and Harry had just found each other that night, had a few brief hours of happiness, and now _this_ had to happen. "It's not fair," she whispered, choking on the words.

He tightened his arms around her. She was warm, alive, and safe for now, the heat of her bare skin an intoxicating reminder of her well being. "We're together, Gin. One dream isn't going to drastically change anything. He's done at least a dozen of these sacrifices over the years."

Harry was wrong. Something very important had happened that night. Each sacrifice bought the Dark Lord a little more power, gained him a little more of an edge over the light side. And this time…this time had been different. Ginny didn't know how she knew, but she did. The balance, the all-important balance, had been thrown off, and her equilibrium careened wildly as her power struggled to get its bearings. Something had happened that night, and she desperately needed to know what, even as she dreaded the answer. The details of the dream slipped away…

"Try to get some more sleep," Harry murmured into her hair. "You need it."

They _both_ needed it. But neither one so much as closed their eyes for the rest of the night.

*****

Draco pulled his mask off as he walked into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Someone made a joke and he turned to laugh, then responded with a jibe of his own. Delia stood on the stairs and watched them come in. She'd been surrounded by Slytherins for so many years, she'd learned to read them, to note any and all weakness that might help her keep her head above water in this den of snakes.

His smile was just slightly too tight, the set of his shoulders too straight. She'd been watching him for weeks as the pressure slowly mounted. He was discouraged at their lack of progress, angry at Shannon's death; he was holding his faction together with both hands and a roll of spellotape, and was no longer confident that he'd be able to pull off the coup he'd devoted his life to bringing about. And he would rather die than admit any of it.

Draco walked by without sparing her a glance, and she turned and followed him to his wing. The members of their faction waited in his private study; he pulled up short when he saw them but he did not allow himself to show any surprise. "Did it happen?" Elliot asked.

Draco gave a curt nod. He held the other man's gaze for a solid ten seconds – the room was silent, no one dared to breathe – before Elliot exploded. "What the hell is going on here? You promised us the Pendragon! You promised that we'd get rid of the Dark Lord, and that –"

He cut off abruptly as his leader grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the paneled wall. "If you think you can do better," Draco snarled through clenched teeth, "then you're welcome to try." His platinum hair hung in his eyes and the harsh angles of his face were contorted in fury. Elliot was terrified, sure he wasn't going to make it through this confrontation alive.

Draco's eyes bored into his and then, gradually, the rage that had invested the senior Death Eater's face melted. The tension in his muscles relaxed and he took a step back, releasing his hold on Elliot's shirt. All cool nonchalance, as though his wrath had been nothing but a mass-hallucination on the part of his followers, Draco flicked a speck of dirt off of the sleeve of his robes. "I didn't think so." His gaze played around the room. "Does anyone else have anything to say to me? No?" They all stared, wide-eyed, and he sighed. "We have to give Ginny time."

"We don't have any time," Mark Rigby-Jones said dolefully.

"None of that," Draco ordered. "If we lose morale, then we lose everything. We can and will do this; we've come too far not to. I'll leave you in Blaise's capable hands. He'll brief you on what happened tonight." Draco turned on his heel and left the room without another word and, sure she must have gone completely mad, Delia slipped out after him.

*****

Draco shut the door to his suite with a satisfying slam, then stalked into the sitting room. On the sideboard, the elves had left a bottle of scotch and a glass. He'd just splashed some alcohol into the tumbler when he heard the door behind him click shut. "What," he asked, tightening his grip around the bottle, "is so important that you entered without knocking?"

Delia looked at his back, at the broad muscles, tense under his shirt, that narrowed to a slim waist. "I thought you might want to talk."

He rolled his eyes and turned. "You thought wrong."

Her voice tinged with disapproval, she asked, "You're drinking?"

Draco smirked. "I'd offer you some, but I'm afraid I've only one glass." He tilted his head back, the line of his throat moving as he swallowed deeply.

"It's not a way to deal with problems."

Eyes unusually bright, Draco tipped his head back down and looked at her. "What do you know about my problems?"

"I know you're discouraged."

"I'm not," he countered immediately.

"And that you're worried that the faction won't hold together long enough to –"

"That's not true," he said over her.

She didn't stop talking, "to accomplish you know is necessary, and that you're afraid of –"

"That's enough!" he hissed, grabbing her arm. "What the hell are you doing here, Silvermoon?"

"I told you, I thought you might want to talk."

"_Talk?_" he said, cynical smirk firmly in place. "I'm sure that's _exactly_ what you wanted."

She rubbed the spot where his hand had grabbed her. "I want to help you. I want you to be confident. This is going to work. It _has_ to."

"You, Delia, are a stupid, stupid girl," he said, taking another drink from his glass. "Naïveté is charming on debutantes and Hufflepuffs, but it just doesn't suit you." With satisfaction, he watched her flinch. He was good at this, at finding people's weak spots and hurting them. He wanted her to go away. He wanted her gray eyes to stop looking at him and teasing out his vulnerabilities.

"I'm not stupid," Delia insisted. "You're brooding, and when you get like this you can't see the forest for the trees. You have a large following. You're the Dark Lord's second in command. You're wealthy, powerful, charismatic, and Ginny Weasley is, no doubt, doing exactly what we want her to be doing. You're in a fantastic position right now. Don't let Elliot get to you. He's nothing; he doesn't know what he's saying." She shut up as soon as she realized she was rambling.

He turned his back to her and refilled the glass. "Do you want to know what happened tonight, Delia? The goddess gave him a ring. He has it on his finger right now, and nobody is going to get it off while he's still alive. As long as he's wearing it, there's nobody who can kill him. His powers –"

"Ginny can," Delia interrupted. "She will. She has to. None of us can do anything against him, but weren't we going to use her all along? This doesn't change anything; it only makes her job somewhat more difficult."

"What if she can't?" he snapped. "What if she –"

"What if she dies tomorrow in a broom accident?" Delia said. "Why waste your time on what ifs? You are, without question, the most intelligent person I've ever met. Don't let this drag you down. We need you to focus." She walked up behind him and rested her palm on his lower back, tracing it in small circles. "We need you."

He turned his head to the side and looked down at her, the patented sneer fixed on his face. His voice was cruelly ironic. "You came here to talk, did you?"

Delia met his eyes, didn't look away. "I want to help you feel better."

His mouth twisted with scorn and he jerked away from her touch. "A pity fuck? I like that. Thank you so much."

"I'm not –"

"Earlier tonight you told me to go to Pansy Parkinson."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Why?"

He lied, "I couldn't find her." He wasn't about to admit that he'd closeted himself in his room with a Herbology textbook.

"I turned you down earlier because –"

"I don't care why."

She talked over him, "_Because_ you wanted to use me. You were anxious about the sacrifice and you wanted me as a distraction. I won't be used."

"And I won't be pitied."

"It's not that!" she exclaimed, frustrated. "I can help. I can make you feel better. Let me try, at least."

He leaned back against the sideboard and looked at her, flushed and breathing heavily with agitation. His voice was cold and diamond-hard. "So you're willing to whore yourself out for the sake of my mental health, is that it? You'll condescend to sleep with me because you think I'm frustrated and angry -"

"No!"

"Stop me when I get to the part that's wrong," he purred. "You think Elliot hurt my feelings and you're just the one to bandage them up. You think I'm convinced the coup will fail, and a roll in the sack will brighten my outlook on life because…why? Because you're _special_? You think my sleeping with you will fix this mess, and yet you insist that you're not stupid. Why couldn't we have gotten the Slytherin? At least she's _practical_."

"Because Dana wouldn't put up with your shit," Delia said, looking up into his face, nearly spitting with fury. "You think if you hurt me then I'll just go away and leave you alone to sulk in private, but you're wrong. You're not getting rid of me, Draco Malfoy. I swore an oath when I was fourteen years old –"

"So it's out of loyalty, is it?" he bit off and, because she had made a habit of watching him closely, Delia saw that the malice in his voice disguised his hurt. "This is all very heartwarming, and I'm sure you meant for me to melt into your arms the way Finnigan did with your sister, but it's not that easy."

"No," she said, taking a step away. "It's not, is it. We're both too proud, me earlier today and you now. Neither of us can admit what we want because…I don't know. Just because."

He twirled the glass in his hands and watched her steadily. She sighed. "I'd better go, then."

"Yes," he snapped, "you'd better."

Just as she turned from him, the door swung open and Goyle stepped inside, his ordinarily stupid face even more dumbfounded than usual. Quick as anything, Draco moved up behind her, his body pressed against the length of hers. "Can I help you?" he drawled, all tension gone or, at least, disguised. He was once again the calm, collected aristocrat.

"I heard voices," Goyle said.

"Yes," Draco confirmed. "That would have been because Miss Silvermoon and I were in here together, and we were talking. Voices are a necessary and natural byproduct of vocal communication, and I'd expect…" He trailed off at the confusion on Goyle's face, and Delia bit the inside of her cheek and fought to keep a straight face. Draco often made her want to burst out laughing, although it was usually unintentional on his part. She sensed, though, that this time he'd done it on purpose. He was trying to ease her tension and anger. He had a role to play for people outside the faction, and right now, she was a prop for that role.

"I don't want to interrupt anything," Goyle said, although he didn't move from the doorway. He just stood, large, clumsy hands hanging at his sides, looking at the man and woman pressed together in the center of the room.

"Then you should have stayed away," Draco said without missing a beat. His old roommate's face creased in concentration as he struggled to twist his mind around that statement, and Draco rolled his eyes. "Is there something you need, Greg?"

"The Dark Lord sent me," Goyle told him. "He wants to talk to you."

Draco nodded. "Tell him I'll be down shortly."

"I'll wait," Goyle said, looking very nervous indeed. Draco wondered what would happen if he decided to carry Delia into the bedroom for a few hours. No doubt Goyle would still be standing here when he came out.

"Very well." He drained the last of his scotch and then pulled Delia into a long, heart-stopping, spine-melting kiss. There was nothing there to tell her that the passion behind it wasn't real and, because Goyle was watching, Delia leaned into the embrace. Draco tasted like alcohol. He pulled back and said with a lazy smile, "You'll forgive me, won't you?" His tone showed that he didn't much care what her answer would be.

"Of course," she breathed, hoping she sounded besotted enough. She hadn't the faintest idea how to play lovesick. Not that Goyle would be able to tell the difference.

He gave her a brief, mocking smile, then turned and walked out ahead of Goyle, apparently dismissing her from his mind. Delia was worried. Voldemort had wanted the junior Death Eater to wait for Draco, to personally escort him down. That wasn't usual. Anxious for his safety, she left his rooms for the suite she maintained at the Manor.

*****

Draco swept into the cold dungeon room, leaving Goyle in the hall. Voldemort stood alone. "You came quickly," the Dark Lord observed. "I don't believe you've ever been so prompt."

"I didn't have a choice, did I?" he said smoothly, crossing the room. Cool detachment. He could do it.

"I hope you weren't busy." Voldemort's red, slit-like eyes narrowed. They nearly disappeared.

"I'm never so busy that I would put off a summons from you," Draco replied.

"The sacrifices disgust you." It was not a question.

There was no point in lying about it. "It's the loss of control that gives me problems. We indulge their baser instincts and turn them into animals."

"All men are animals, young Malfoy," Voldemort replied, resting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Allowing them to indulge their…baser instincts, as you put it, in a controlled environment keeps them from doing so when it is truly crucial."

"You call that controlled?" Draco asked. He kept his tone low and slightly subservient. The Dark Lord allowed him to speak his mind, but never wanted him to forget who was truly in charge.

Voldemort smiled. "I do call it controlled. Perhaps not by Malfoy standards, granted, but you have always had more…self-command….than most. Your impulses are securely locked away, aren't they?" His tone turned thoughtful and his hand strayed up to Draco's cheek. "Who knows what's going on inside that mind of yours?"

This was getting a little too close. Draco bowed his head, inwardly reeling, his mind struggling to get a foothold on reason. His eyes fell on the ring and Voldemort raised it to give the young man a better look. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Draco nodded in agreement. It truly was. The torchlight caressed the dark stone, sliding sensuously over its curve. The talisman was deep black against Voldemort's white skin. "It's an object of great power," he said, because the Dark Lord seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

"Yes. I must begin work straight away to unlock its secrets. The Pendragon will be invaluable in this. She will know what to do; with my power and hers combined, we will rid the community of mudbloods and establish a reign that will last a thousand years. I will finally conquer death, when she joins with us."

Draco raised his eyes from the ring to Voldemort's face. He had to tread lightly. "My lord?"

"You understand me correctly, Draco. It is time to find the Pendragon. One of the candidates is dead, which leaves two. Soon, I will bring her here and you will join your mind to hers. You were born to give me final victory over Albus Dumbledore. It is time for you to fulfill your destiny."

"Yes, my lord," Draco murmured, nodding. He didn't trust himself to speak any louder, for fear he'd be unable to disguise his anger at being used as a tool of personal vengeance.

"You are my most trusted servant," Voldemort told him. "When the day comes, you will sit at my right hand in the Great Hall of Hogwarts castle as we rid ourselves of the community's impurities."

"And Albus Dumbledore," Draco said.

The Dark Lord seemed momentarily taken aback, then he nodded. "And Albus Dumbledore."

"You will tell me when you find her?" Draco asked. "After so many years of inactivity, I'm eager to start."

His eyes were so like his father's, and yet so unlike, Voldemort thought as he watched his second in command. Lucius's gaze was cold and flat, unctuous and insinuating. _This_ Malfoy, on the other hand, didn't seem to care what anyone thought of him. He was brilliant and cruel; arrogant, yet full of something very like anxiety. He tried to look cold, but the Dark Lord detected a latent fire behind that gaze of gray ice, one that could, at any moment, burst into flame. It hadn't yet; the young man had attained an astounding level of self-mastery. But all it needed was a spark, and someday…

"I will," Voldemort confirmed. "You will be the first to know."

Draco nodded in acknowledgment, and the Dark Lord raised his hand. Draco immediately realized that Voldemort wanted him to kiss the ring. He steeled himself against any open displays of revulsion and bent down, brushing his lips over the cold Otherworldly talisman.

"You may go," Voldemort declared. "I daresay you have something to occupy your attention this night. A certain redhead, perhaps?"

Draco arched an incredulous eyebrow.

The Dark Lord laughed. "Lord Voldemort always knows, young Malfoy. Do not forget. Enjoy your charming girl as well as you can."

"I'd hardly call her charming."

He nodded. "Then in this we agree." The dismissal in his tone was evident. Without another word, Draco turned and left the dungeon. Voldemort never failed to put him off balance. He felt shaken and dirty. He half walked, half jogged through the halls of the Manor until he came to a door. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Draco knocked an imperious, staccato beat.

Delia pulled the door open, instinct telling her who was on the other side. Draco was so pale as to be nearly white, his eyes bleak. "Come in," she said, moving aside and then closing the door as soon as he'd entered.

He sank onto the bed and leaned forward, resting his head in his palms. "He wants to find the Pendragon."

She knelt on the ground in front of him and looked up between his arms, into his face. "We'll handle it. All of us together, the same way we've dealt with all the other stumbling blocks that have been in our way. We'll adapt. We'll use his weaknesses against him. We can do this, but not without you." He opened his eyes and looked down at her, and she was shaken by what she saw. She was sure that no one, not even Blaise, knew the depths of his uncertainty and desperation. He played his role so well, was so locked into damage control and strategy that he didn't know how to admit his fear, to deal with it and put it behind him. Delia rose up on her knees, forcing him to sit up straight. She took his head in her hands and made him look her in the eye. "You were born for this, Draco. If the gods believe you can do it, why bother doubting yourself? I'll help you every step of the way. I'll do whatever I can, whatever you need." Not hesitating a moment more, she pulled his face close and pressed her lips gently to his, tracing her tongue along the seam of his mouth. After a moment, Draco kissed her back.

*****

When the young man left the room, Voldemort turned and motioned to a small, curtained-off alcove. The heavy drapes parted and Draco's father stepped into the room. "What do you think?"

"He's my son," Lucius replied.

"Of course he is. The young man looks absurdly like you. His paternity is not what is at question," Voldemort said with a faint smile. "Is he loyal?"

"I saw nothing to indicate otherwise."

"That's because you're an unobservant fool," Voldemort said.

Lucius didn't even flinch at the insult. "Do you think Draco would betray you?"

"It's hard to tell," the Dark Lord said thoughtfully. "He doesn't like the sacrifices. They repulse him. He's never joined in the revelry, which is more than I can say for you."

Lucius shrugged. "It's his nature. He doesn't like to lose control."

"Perhaps…but perhaps not. He was hesitant to kiss the ring."

"It's an object of great power," Lucius pointed out, "as he said himself. I would be reluctant to come so close to such a thing."

Voldemort chuckled. "You tell lies easier than you tell the truth, my slippery friend. You would have this ring from me in a heartbeat, given the chance." Lucius opened his mouth to protest and Voldemort held up his hand. "Lord Voldemort always knows. Your son, however…I am not so sure what he feels about the goddess's gift. He does not covet it, at least not to the degree that you do."

"This is a sign of true loyalty, then," Lucius said, desperate to regain at least some of his family's standing with the Dark Lord. "You _did_ make him your second in command."

"I suppose," Voldemort allowed reluctantly. "Still, the search for the Pendragon will begin tomorrow. An appropriate day, is it not?"

"My lord?"

Voldemort gave a thin smile. "Tomorrow is Draco's birthday, Lucius. Don't tell me you've forgotten. January thirty-first; I remember it like it was yesterday."

"Of course," Lucius said smoothly.

"Where are the candidates now?"

The elder Malfoy ticked them off on his fingers, although there were only two. "Our sources indicate that Stella Screwtape is on the continent. She's working as a desk clerk in a Wizard hostel in Rome. Apparently, she went on holiday and ran out of money, couldn't afford to get back, so she's there until she can earn enough to come home."

"And the other?"

"Ginny Weasley hasn't been seen in public since Shannon Cannon's death."

The Dark Lord's eyes were speculative. "Do we know where she's gone?"

"We believe she's staying with Harry Potter." Lucius knew his lord wouldn't like that. He was quite correct.

Voldemort drew breath in a long, snakelike hiss. "Potter!"

"Yes, my lord. We could do a midnight raid on his flat. He'll never expect us. We'll have her in a heartbeat."

The Dark Lord shook his head. "That's no good. The boy is too well protected. My Death Eaters won't be able to come within _sight_ of his home, and as long as she is there, she's untouchable to us."

"Perhaps if we took her family –"

"Not yet. We need to cultivate her good will, not her resentment and fear." Voldemort was silent for a long time. Lucius waited patiently, allowing his master to plan without interruption. Finally, the Dark Lord spoke again. "We will take Screwtape right away. The German delegation arrives tomorrow; they will see that we are at least moving forward in this matter. As for Weasley, we wait and watch."

"And what about Draco?"

Voldemort's tone was thoughtful. "I have my suspicions, nothing more. He has never indicated by word or action that he's disloyal in any way. I can't help but think, though…"

"My lord?"

"We will capture the Pendragon without him," Voldemort declared decisively. "Provide Draco with a distraction of some sort until we have both candidates in custody."

"What do you mean by distraction? Would you like him to be in charge of feting the Germans?"

Voldemort sighed. "That won't effectively capture his attention, not for any length of time. Your son has a passionate nature, for all that he tries to stifle it. Find him something…consuming. Something that will occupy his hours and thoughts and dreams. A task, a person, revenge on an old enemy…. Just see that he stays out of our way. I don't want to take any chances with his devotion to me. Not when we're so close."

*****

A/N part two: Has anyone ever told you you'd make a great muse? Join the HP Pendragon yahoo group! We have cookies, outtakes, writing challenges, fanart, and the best group of muses this side of…anywhere! groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon is the place to be.

Next chapter:

Ginny and Dumbledore meet for the first time since her departure from the division, Draco turns twenty-two, Dana starts to put the puzzle pieces together, Mike is Mike, and Mórrígan puts Ginny in a precarious situation. Stay tuned!

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed:

GinnyWPotter, Dobby's Socks, Joyce83, Cranberry27, ProfessorJewels (twice!), Canarielle, Lyrelle, QuillyFeather, ThomasJ, Zamnaii, Hazel Harman, fuchsia, suze, Lana Potter, Cloudzi, bubblez fairy, MagicalMoonPrincess, Allocin, equasar, Unregistered, Emily (Go Orange Crush!), Athena, Nicola Six, Thrasia, Ginny Dallaire, Roxy Foxy 1305, Anna Marie [the calendar feasts are the four major holidays in the Celtic year. They're tied to the harvest, the solstices, and the changing of the seasons. Lughnasa, Samhain, Beltaine, and Imbolc are the four feasts. Ginny was born on Samhain. Harry was born the day before Lughnasa. Draco was born the day before Imbolc. The Silvermoons were born on Beltaine]. Thanks as well to everyone who reviewed by email and/or at the yahoo group. Each and every one of you is appreciated. You all are my heroes.

The chapter has now ended.


	3. The Plague of Great Ones

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Title and Chapter: Galatea Chapter three: The Plague of Great Ones (3/?)

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Author Name: Irina

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Author Email: irina@schnoogle.com

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Category: Action/Adventure

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Keywords: destiny, adventure, Pendragon, mythology, post-Hogwarts

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Rating: R for violence, adult situations, and language

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Spoilers: All four books

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Summary: _Galatea_ is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in _The Rebirth_, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry…and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess [Sequel to _The Rebirth_.]

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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long to post, everyone. Between my thesis, spring break, and getting sick, my free time has been short lately. Galatea is the sequel to my first fic, "The Rebirth," and the second fic in what has been dubbed The Mórrígna Trilogy. Since Galatea is a sequel, please do read "The Rebirth" first to cut down on confusion. It's a great story; I promise. Thanks to Danette and DRI, the best beta readers a girl could want. Thanks to The Elder Wyrm for sending me a get-well card and to Bertie, Emma, Evilkarky, and Heidi for their good wishes and supportive messages. Thanks as well to my muses at the HP Pendragon yahoo group. If you'd like to join them, point your browser to groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon. I'd love to see you there. Remember, folks, feedback makes me a better writer, which translates to a better story for you to read. And now, on with the show.

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Chapter Three

The Plague of Great Ones

Yet, 'tis the plague of great ones; 

Prerogatived are they less than the base; 

'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death

--_Othello_, Act III, scene III

Delia stirred, then slowly opened her eyes, a languorous smile on her face. Her satisfaction vanished, though, when she rolled over to face the center of the bed. The other side was unoccupied. Damn him and his rude, imperious, superior attitude. He obviously needed some instruction on morning-after etiquette. Leaving without so much as a goodbye…damn him.

*****

Dana was sound asleep when someone grabbed her shoulder and shook. She woke instantly, grabbed the arm of the intruder, and flipped him over onto the bed. In the blink of an eye, her wand was in her hand and trained at his throat. "Caicer, Caibell, and Callieach Bhéirre," Mike swore. "How did you move that fast?"

Dana blinked in surprise, then pulled her wand away. "What do you think you're doing, knocking me up like that?"

Mike closed his hands around her waist and moved her aside so he could sit up. "Ginny's gone. I just went in to bring her some juice. Her bed is unmade, and she's not there."

"Her things?"

"All over the floor."

"What about her car?"

"It's not in the lot."

Dana smiled. She was happy for Ginny, genuinely happy. "Good."

"_Good_? What the hell do you mean, good? She's been kidnapped, or –"

Dana couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. Agent Jezebel, _kidnapped_? Impossible.

Her amusement added anger to Mike's worry. "I'm glad you think this is so funny. I thought she was your friend. We have to phone the Ministry, or maybe -"

"Hey," Dana interrupted, "did it occur to you that maybe she left on her own?"

It obviously hadn't. "On her own? That doesn't make any sense. Where would she have gone, without taking her things?"

Dana flopped onto her back and smiled up at Mike. "I can think of a place."

His face was blank, then realization dawned, followed by disgust. "You're not serious."

She laughed and pulled his face down until it was close enough to kiss. "It's about time, don't you think?"

"I do _not_ think." Mike pulled out of Dana's grasp and scrambled back into a sitting position. "She doesn't know what she's doing. She –"

"That's enough." Dana sat up and faced him. "Ginny came here like you asked. If she went back to Harry's, then it's because it was her own choice. She was removed from the situation and made her decision at a distance. And," at this, her voice became stern, "you'll be happy for her, or I'll know the reason why."

"You can't just –"

"I'm not saying you have to like Harry. For reasons known only to you two, that will probably never happen. Still, she's your best friend and he's her choice. You owe it to her to respect her decision."

"I can't."

"Then fake it." Dana reached for the bathrobe that hung from the bedpost. It was Mike's, but he was only a few inches taller than she so it fit well. She liked wearing it because it smelled like him. Even when he was being irritating and stubborn, she still enjoyed his scent. There was something comforting about it.

"Are you serious? You expect me to _lie_?"

She turned to look back on her way out of the room. "Absolutely. You don't have to support her actions if you don't want to, but you _do_ have to support her. I shouldn't have to tell you this, Mike. By now, you should have figured out how to be a good friend."

"She's making a mistake. As her friend, it's my job to tell her –"

"Harry is a good man. He loves her," Dana interrupted.

Mike leaned back against the headboard and scowled, his arms crossed over his chest. "So once again, he gets what he wants just because he wants it. I swear, if a regular person were given even _half_ the special treatment he's received over the years –"

"She loves him too, Mike!" At this outburst, Mike silenced. Dana continued, "She loves him. Support her for that, then."

"She does _not_."

"We've all known it for years. You're the only one who can't see it. She loves him and there's nothing you can do about it. You owe it to your friendship to support her. Why do you _care_ so much? I don't see why…" Dana trailed off and looked at him, lost. "Do you still love her?"

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, strode across the room to face her. "What? Dana, is that what you think?"

"What am I supposed to think, when you freak out like this?"

He shook his head and gave a small, self-depreciating laugh. "It would be hard to _still_ love someone you've never loved in the first place. I mean…" At Dana's incredulous expression, his tone changed. "All right, I love Ginny. There. I said it. I love her. Is that what you wanted to hear?" He sounded hurt. "But I'm not _in _love with her. How could you even think…I've never…"

"You were with her for years."

Mike brushed a tendril of Dana's hair back from her face. "Those years were the hardest time of my life. She was there, and she needed me, goddess knows why. She never explained, but I sometimes felt…I don't know. I needed her too. I still do, but in a different way."

"Then be happy for her."

"I can't." At Dana's expression, though, Mike amended, "I'll try my best. And if that doesn't work, I'll pretend."

"Yeah?"

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then another, longer one to her lips. "Yeah." Two kisses later, Mike asked, "Are you free for lunch this afternoon?"

Dana nodded. "Do you want to meet in the employee dining room?"

"No," said Mike. "Let's go to a real restaurant. I'm tired of Ministry food."

"It's a date then." She knew he was apologizing the only way he knew how.

"I'll make up some tea while you shower."

He really could be very sweet and thoughtful, Dana reflected, when he wanted to be.

*****

Harry and Ginny lay, limbs tangled together and wound in the sheets. They didn't speak, just held each other, both dwelling on their shared dream and the ramifications of what had happened the night before. As the fiery fingers of dawn streaked across the blue night sky, their eyes closed and, from sheer exhaustion, they finally fell asleep.

*****

Dana sat in Ginny's office and stared out the window, one hand propping up her chin, the other twirling a quill. She'd spent much of the past week doing fieldwork, going along on sting operations, even ones that didn't involve her team. Her hours in the office made her dwell on Ginny's abrupt departure from the division. Dana was angry. She couldn't help the way she felt, even though she'd known for ages that Ginny would either leave or have a nervous breakdown. And, for goddess's sake, Ginny had killed one of her best friends. Dana couldn't help but feel a trifle heartless for begrudging Ginny her freedom after Shannon's death.

And Shannon started her along another avenue of thought; one Dana had traveled many times in the past few days. According to Ginny's file, last week the Death Eaters cornered her outside of the club and gave chase. Why? Why Ginny? Because there was no doubt in Dana's mind that Ginny had been a deliberate target. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence. At the Beltaine Ball, too, Death Eaters had been spotted outside the ring of bonfires and once again, Ginny had been cornered. Then there was the matter of the Muggle incident in the alley behind the pub last year, the day of Osiris's funeral. It was all there in Ginny's file, documented in her methodical way. Why had she been the subject of so many kidnap attempts?

Dana firmly believed that these _were_ kidnap attempts since, according to the file, no one had ever attempted _Avada Kadavera_ on Ginny. Her code name couldn't have been discovered. If that were true, the Death Eaters would have bypassed kidnapping and gone straight to revenge. Her family would've been dead a long time ago. So what was it about Ginny that made her a target? Dana might feel betrayed by her leader's sudden departure but, as an Auror, she had an obligation to keep Ginny safe. To do that, though, Dana would need to discover her secret. She felt like there was an important piece of the puzzle lurking just behind her consciousness. Something she _should_ remember but couldn't quite. It was on the tip of her tongue, the edge of her mind. She just couldn't seem to catch hold…

A knock at the door shook her out of her reverie. It was Agent Saturn, Mike in tow. "Mr. Fletcher," Saturn announced.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Mike said. He seemed uncomfortable.

"Not at all. I was just trying to remember something." Dana smiled and motioned for him to have a seat.

He remained standing. "Don't think about it and it'll come to you. That always works for me."

She picked up a folder. "I have to give this to Catherine. Do you mind waiting?"

"Don't take too long," he said. "I feel weird in here."

"You do?"

"It was my father's office."

Dana didn't know what to say to that. "Okay. I'll be back in a moment."

Catherine was reading an owl post when Dana poked her head in. The wax seal on the parchment was red – it was a top-priority message from a team leader. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrupt. I just need to drop off this week's time sheets for payroll."

Catherine's eyes flicked up from her note. "That's your second's job, Nimue. Now that you're a team leader, learn to delegate."

"If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself," Dana replied.

Catherine arched an eyebrow. "Agent Saturn isn't performing up to your expectations?"

"Of course he is," Dana said, quick to defend. "It's just…I don't know…I don't want to get out of practice for when Ginny comes back."

Catherine motioned to the scroll on her desk. "You can talk to her about that yourself, later this afternoon. Agent Midas just owled to say that he has vital information and needs to speak with me as soon as possible. He and Jezebel will get here soon. You'll be nearby when they arrive."

That would give Dana just enough time to grab a quick lunch with Mike. "Absolutely."

"Good." Catherine took the payroll folder and handed them to an intra-office owl. It flew off to the accounting department, timesheets clutched in its beak.

Dana shifted on her feet, unsure how to excuse herself from the room. Catherine spared her the trouble. "Dismissed, Nimue. Be in your office ninety minutes from now."

"Yes ma'am."

*****

They woke around noon. Harry scribbled a note to Catherine while Ginny showered and dressed. Then, as he took a turn in the shower, Ginny made toast and poured two glasses of juice. It wasn't much of a morning-after breakfast, but toast was the most edible thing in her repertoire. Her mother often despaired of her culinary skills.

Harry had no comment on the meager fare. He spread his toast with strawberry jam and didn't seem to notice that there was nothing else to eat. "We'll go to the Ministry first so I can tell Catherine about the dream."

"You won't mention that I had it too," Ginny said sharply.

He waved his hand for her to sit. "Of course not. Anyway, it'll be a chance for you to collect your stuff from your office."

"I don't think I have any stuff."

"Everyone has stuff, Gin," he said, starting on his second slice of toast. "I'm sure Dana has been tripping over it the past week. She'll want you to get it out of the way."

"Okay." Ginny didn't want to go back to the division, not ever again. But she wasn't going to talk her way out of it, that much was obvious.

"Then," said Harry, "we'll go to Hogwarts."

"It'll be a waste of time, I can tell you that right now."

He shook his head. "Dumbledore has a right to know. Even you have to admit that."

Ginny sighed. "Fine. Whatever you want. If it'll make you feel better to talk to him, then I'll go along. I haven't seen my brother in a while, at any rate. This'll give me the chance to pop in and say hello."

Harry nodded. That could've been a lot more difficult than it was. "I told Catherine we'd be there at one thirty. I'll do the washing up, since you cooked breakfast."

Ginny thought that the word _cooked_ was perhaps a bit much, but she didn't argue. She wanted to get these visits over with so she could speak with Mórrígan. Tomorrow was Imbolc, the first calendar feast of the year. Tonight the Otherworld would be open to her. The goddess would tell her what she and Harry had seen in their dream, and how to go about it. Let Harry put his faith in Dumbledore if he wanted to, but Ginny knew the true source of power in the Wizarding world, the silver-blooded goddess who couldn't be less similar to the aged Professor.

*****

Catherine waited in the lobby. Ginny gave a curt nod. The division head's smile faded at her prized Auror's cool greeting. "It's true then? You're not coming back?"

"Not for all the gold in Gringotts."

Catherine shook her head. "I won't pretend to understand you. I've never seen an Auror so talented, and yet so absolutely unsuited for the job."

"It's a paradox," Ginny said sarcastically.

"Midas, we can speak in a moment. Jezebel –"

"You can call me Ginny now. I _do_ have a name."

Harry nudged her with his elbow. _You're being rude. Stop it_. He was not graced with a reply.

"Ginny," Catherine corrected, "you'll have to wait here. Someone will come along to escort you back. I believe Nimue has gathered your things."

__

See, everybody has stuff. Still, he got no answer.

As he followed Catherine through the door, the division head told him, "Wait for me in conference room three. I'll be along in a minute."

*****

Dana enjoyed having lunch with Mike. He was always full of funny stories about his day, and if he wasn't as interested in hearing about life as an Auror, she couldn't quite blame him. At any rate, he never failed to leave her in stitches. She thought he'd missed his calling; he should have been a stand-up comic. He sometimes reminded her of Seamus that way, although in temperament the two were really quite different. He didn't mention the conversation they'd had that morning, and she didn't bring it up either. After her meal, Dana settled into her new office with every intention of plowing through the mountain of paperwork Ginny had left her.

She had only been at it for half an hour when a soft knock came at the door and Catherine stepped in. Dana smiled and waved for her boss to have a seat. "How are you settling in?" the Division head asked.

"All right. It's kind of intimidating, but I'll get used to it."

"Take your time," Catherine said. "You have some big shoes to fill. Speaking of, I need you for a minute. There's a job that has to be done; I hope you can take care of it."

"Sure," Dana said, setting her quill back in its holder and standing. "What's going on?"

"Jezebel and Midas just walked in. She needs to collect her personal items, and he needs to speak to me about something."

Dana stared. "Her personal items? You mean she's really not coming back?"

"I know we all hoped that she'd change her mind, probably you most of all. Still, are you really surprised that this is how things have turned out?"

"No," Dana said softly, remembering the wasted look behind Ginny's eyes in the last weeks of her Auror career. "What do you need me to do?"

"She's a civilian now; she'll have to be escorted back here. I'd like you to…take care of her. Make sure you bring your wand."

"Sorry?"

"Take care of her." Catherine looked at Dana's blank face for a moment before realizing the agent had no idea what she was talking about. "She knows too much, Nimue. She's a font of classified information. If she were ever captured by the other side, we might never recover from the damage she could do."

"Ginny wouldn't ever tell anything," Dana said automatically. "Not ever."

"They have ways of opening the mind, tortures too horrible for us to even imagine. I need you to _Obliviate_ her."

Dana didn't like that at all. "It's wrong; you know it is. She _trusts_ me. I can't just erase her memory."

"It's policy, Nimue. It's for the best."

"I don't want to."

"I don't care. I'm ordering you to. I'd do it myself, but I need to talk to Midas. I want it done by the time he and I are finished."

Dana knew that there was no way to get out of it, so she reluctantly nodded, picked her wand up from where it lay on her desk, and tucked it into the holster at her side.

Ginny waited in the lobby of the division's office space. Harry and Catherine had closeted themselves in a conference room, but Ginny couldn't go back without an escort. She felt her friends and colleagues nearby, just on the other side of the door, but she was no longer one of them. She didn't miss it one bit.

A smile broke across Ginny's face when Dana stuck her head out into the waiting area. "I'm sorry I left in the middle of the night like that. I'll bet Mike was a bear when he woke up."

"He wasn't happy," Dana allowed.

Ginny asked, "How are you?"

There were so many things Dana wanted to say. She wanted to ask how her former team leader could strand her like this, in a position of such grave responsibility. She wanted to know what had finally given her the courage to quit. Most of all, though, Dana wanted to ask how Ginny could, in all good conscience, abandon the fight, leave the light side to flounder along without her help and protection. She was Agent Jezebel. They needed her, but she had abandoned them. In spite of all this, the words that came out of her mouth were a simple, "Fine, thanks. And how are you?" It wasn't at all what Dana had meant to say, and she was surprised to hear the words spoken in her own voice.

"I've been better," Ginny said, thinking of the dream, and the balance. Then she thought of Harry. "But I've also been worse."

Dana held the door open and Ginny stepped into the main office. "I've put your things in a box. There wasn't much." There really hadn't been. All of Ginny's clutter had been work paraphernalia: scrolls, files, forms, manuals. Upon moving into the office, Dana had been surprised at Ginny's lack of personal items. She'd had a spare cloak hanging in her closet, a framed picture of her family (plus Harry and Hermione) taken at the grand opening of the Diagon Alley branch of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, a packet of cigarettes, and a small photo of Mike that alternated between smiling cheerfully and sticking his tongue out at the viewer. Dana knew that Ginny and Mike were close friends - that Ginny was probably Mike's _closest_ friend - but she also knew their history and couldn't help a small twinge at finding a photo of him in her office. She had put those thoughts aside, though. Ginny and Mike were over, romantically speaking, and Dana would never come between Mike and his best friend. She'd never considered herself the jealous type and, anyway, she knew which one of them he'd choose.

Dana reached out, but Ginny's hand grasped the office doorknob first. "Wow," she said, surveying the room that, up until a week ago, had been hers. "You're a lot neater than I am."

"I like to keep everything in order," Dana replied, leaning back on the door to shut it. "That way, nothing gets lost."

"But life is a lot less interesting." Ginny's smile was thin, but it was still there. She spotted the cardboard box on the floor in the corner and bent to pick it up. Dana looked at Ginny's back as she drew her wand. It would be so easy to do it now; she wouldn't have to see Ginny's face, the momentary flash of betrayal that would give way to the blankness of the memory charm. But, no, she couldn't do it like that. She respected Ginny. What's more, she liked her. She may have abandoned the light side in their most dire time of need, but she was still Agent Jezebel, and shooting her from the front seemed the least Dana could do.

Ginny turned, box in hand, and saw Dana's wand trained at her chest. For a moment she was stunned, but then Macha's words rushed through her mind. _"Their power is unnatural…. She poses no threat to you right now." _Had the day come when Dana _did_ pose a threat? The box dropped to the ground and her arm snaked out, catching Dana's wrist. Their gazes locked and held, brown to gray. Slowly, Ginny pressed Dana's arm back, bending it at the elbow, twisting it at an unnatural angle. Dana's face betrayed no pain, although it must have been nothing short of agony. Just before her arm snapped, Dana released her hold on the wand. It clattered to the tile floor and Ginny let up the pressure, but didn't release the younger woman. "What do you think you're dong?" She didn't shout, but her tone still commanded a prompt, truthful reply.

"It's policy," Dana said, repeating Catherine's words from earlier. "You need to be _obliviated_; you know too much."

Ginny didn't speak, break eye contact, or release Dana's arm. Dana could've fought, but didn't. She wanted Ginny to understand that she was an unwilling participant in this exercise of division protocol. "I'm under orders. It's not as though I have a choice here. I don't expect you to understand."

"Don't jump to conclusions," muttered Ginny, feeling that Catherine had betrayed her trust, inviting her back to retrieve her box and then saddling Dana with this repulsive task. "I understand better than you think."

Dana was too wrapped up in the play of emotions through Ginny's eyes to catch her words. 

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Forget it," she sighed, realizing that arguing with Dana would do nothing to change the situation. She'd only be wasting her breath. "Just forget I said anything."

Dana's eyes widened and she stared at her friend with a new intensity. "_What_?" She was swamped with a nearly overwhelming sense of déjà vu; there was something she should remember…once again it was there in her mind, but she couldn't quite reach it. It was important, a clue to the puzzle, a very important piece…and then it was gone.

Ginny remembered the day she'd told Dana her secret, then _obliviated_ her. Her words just now had stirred Dana's blocked-off memory of that Christmas evening. Well, she had once erased Dana's memory; it was only fair that Dana get to perform the same spell on her. What goes around comes around – it was one of her mother's favorite phrases. And, anyway, Otherworldly power or no, Ginny knew there was no way that Dana would cast a charm strong enough to actually have any effect. Dana had no reason to believe that a regular-strength spell wouldn't work, and if Ginny could play _obliviated_ for a few minutes, she could still walk away from the situation with her memory intact.

Ginny released her hold on Dana's arm. The younger woman sucked in a breath as her nerves screamed with relief at the sudden loss of pressure, but she maintained control and bent to pick her wand up from the floor. "You'll let me do the spell?"

Ginny gave a wry smile. "Is there any way I'm walking out of here otherwise?"

"No," Dana answered honestly. Under no circumstances would Catherine allow her to leave the Division without having her memory erased, even if she needed every auror in the vicinity to hold Ginny down. Ginny's pride required that it be done this way, in private, by someone she knew and trusted. Dana could certainly understand that.

"Where should I stand? Against the wall?"

Dana gave a small laugh. "It's not a firing squad, Gin. It's just a little memory charm. You won't feel a thing."

"And even if I do, I won't remember it after."

"No," Dana said quietly, "you won't." And, with that, she pointed her wand at the auror she respected above any other, this young woman with whom she'd always felt a kind of mysterious connection. "_Obliviate_."

The memory charm slammed into Ginny's chest with enough velocity to knock her backward. She crashed onto the desk; files and stacks of paper scattered, ink bottles tumbled to the ground and shattered, and Ginny couldn't hold back a cry, more from surprise than pain, although she felt a healthy amount of both. As though in slow motion, Ginny felt the memories of her days as an Auror pull away from her consciousness into the dark places of her mind where she might never find them again. The silver fire flared inside. Ginny laced it around the retreating memories and used it to jerk them back and fasten them in place. The effort made her cry out a second time.

Dana scrambled across the room, slipped once on a stack of paper, and then looked over her desk to where Ginny lay on the other side, dazed, sprawled across the floor. "Oh my bloody god and fuck. I'm _so_ sorry, Gin. I didn't think…I have no idea how that happened. I didn't mean…" Dana had a sudden, terrible thought. The spell had come out so hard – how much had she erased? "Can you tell me your name?"

Ginny didn't answer. She just lay on the floor, eyes slightly unfocused, and tried to breathe. She felt like she'd been hit in the chest with a Beater's club and knew her memory had been saved by only the narrowest of margins.

Her silence terrified Dana. The Auror scooted around the desk and crouched down next to Ginny, helped her into a sitting position. "Do you know where you are? Can you tell me who I am? What's your birthday?"

"Um…" She couldn't stop gasping for breath long enough to talk.

Dana groaned in horror. Harry was going to kill her. "Don't worry, we'll get you to St. Mungo's right away," she reassured while unbuckling her belt to get her emergency Portkey. "The mediwizards can perform memory charm reversals, I think. I hope."

Now was the time for Ginny to pull it together and play along. She pasted a look of confusion on her face. "Memory charms? What are you talking about? Dana, keep your clothes on!"

Dana's hands froze. "What did you just call me?"

"It _is_ your name, isn't it?" Ginny was still a bit unsteady as she pulled herself to her feet. "What would you rather I call you?"

"And do you remember _your_ name?"

"Ginny Weasley. Why? Have you forgotten it?"

"And your birthday?"

"Samhain, 1981. Why all the questions all of a sudden?"

"No reason." Dana was swamped with relief. That had been a close call if there ever was one. Privately, Ginny felt the same way.

Ginny checked her watch. "It's been nice talking to you, but Harry must be almost done with his meeting."

Dana nodded. "You can wait for him in the lobby, if you'd like."

"All right."

Ginny had the door open and was halfway into the hallway when Dana said, "Don't forget your box."

Her smile vacant, Ginny took the container from the floor where she'd dropped it. "You know, you really should clean this place up. I can't imagine how you find anything at all, when all your files are on the floor."

Dana laughed. She couldn't help it. She was so glad that the inadvertent strength of her charm hadn't caused her friend any permanent mental damage. "It's a new filing system. It's all the rage in America."

"It figures. Walk me out?"

"Absolutely."

They'd just reached the door to the waiting room when Ginny turned and faced Dana. The dazed look in her eyes had faded; she once again appeared lucid. "I'll stop by your flat later to get my clothes. I left them in your spare room."

"Of course."

"How is Mike, really?"

Dana sighed. "About how you'd expect."

"That bad?"

Dana nodded.

There was an uncomfortable beat, and then Ginny cleared her throat. "I'll see you this evening then. I'm going up to Hogwarts to see Ron, so I'll come by after."

"Hogsmeade has a huge Imbolc festival. You'll have to take a look."

"I'd been planning on it."

"Let me know how it is, then. Dee and I were born on Beltaine, you know. I have a soft spot for calendar feasts."

"I'll just bet you do," Ginny replied under her breath.

Dana talked on, "I've been meaning to go to the Hogsmeade Imbolc celebration since I left school, but I've always had to work. This year isn't any different."

"You'll get all the details tonight."

Another uncomfortable beat, and then Dana said, "I have to get back to work."

Ginny smiled as Dana turned and left with a mumbled goodbye. Good. Let her be uncomfortable. It served Dana right for that lethal memory charm. What had she been thinking? Any normal person would've had her entire brain wiped clean by a spell that strong. Or did it have something to do with the sacrifice last night, and that Otherworldly power that Dana carried with her? The balance had been upset…_she poses no threat to you now_. But she will someday. The words had been implicit in Macha's statement.

By the time Harry appeared, Ginny had worked herself up to a state of grave anxiety. The sooner they left for Hogwarts, the sooner she could get to the Otherworld and demand an explanation from Mórrígan.

*****

Delia paced in the hall for a minute then, before she could change her mind, pushed the door open and strode inside. Draco glanced up from his pile of scrolls. "This is my private study. What part of private don't you understand?"

She shut the door behind her and stood in front of the desk, hands on her hips. "You owe me an explanation."

He held her eyes for a moment, then looked back down at his work. "I'm busy."

"You'll make time for this."

"If you want to talk to me, you can make an appointment just like everyone else, or you can wait until tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow? Why? What are you doing tonight that's so important?" There weren't any Death Eater activities planned for that night, and Draco wasn't the type to go to the pub with his mates, if he had any mates besides Blaise. Delia didn't remember the last time he had an evening out, but she thought it had probably been the Beltaine ball. And even that had been purely business.

"It's my birthday." He affixed his seal to the bottom of a document and moved on to the next one. "My mother has arranged a celebration. It would be bad form for me to miss."

Delia shook her head. "That's not good enough." When Draco continued to ignore her, she leaned over the desk and slammed her hands down on his document, spreading her fingers wide to keep him from reading.

Draco's face was a study in irritation when he raised his eyes to hers. "Believe it or not, the Death Eaters are not a social club. Being second-in-command is time consuming work, especially with the Germans showing up this evening. I have things to do."

"You left without saying goodbye."

His irritation changed to disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

"After a night like last night, you just don't leave without saying goodbye. It's –"

"You're going to give me a lecture in manners, Silvermoon?" He leaned back in his chair and laughed. "You all but threw yourself at me. Beggars can't be choosers, they say, although I wouldn't know."

"_I_ threw myself at _you_? _You_ came to _me_!"

"A mistake I'm regretting more with every passing minute. If you have such a problem with me, next time I'll go to Pansy. She's always up for a bit of fun, as you pointed out yesterday."

Delia clenched her hands into fists and fought back a scream of frustration. "You could do that, Malfoy." She forced her voice to remain calm and noted with satisfaction his small grimace at her use of his last name. "But would she give you what you need?"

He pasted a smirk on his face. Some strange, self-destructive impulse made him say, "I've always been pleased with her performance."

Delia's voice dripped with derision. "I'm not talking about sex. I'm saying, if you ever show up at Pansy's room in the same state you came to mine last night, what would she do?"

He didn't know the answer to that question, but he knew what Pansy _wouldn't_ do. She wouldn't put his demons to rest with devoted reassurance and unflagging confidence in his abilities, as Delia had. "All right," Draco allowed, "next time I'll wake you up to say goodbye."

If Delia was surprised as his sudden capitulation, she didn't show it. Instead, she raised an eyebrow and said coolly, "Next time?"

"Tonight after my party? I'll have been putting a good face on the Pendragon matter for hours." His nerves would be shot by the end of the night. He knew it, as did she. The stakes were higher than ever before, and the stress was taking its toll on him.

Delia met his eyes straight on. "Actually, I have plans tonight."

"With whom?"

"That's none of your business." She couldn't tell him she was meeting her Auror sister.

"Oh." The syllable was expressionless, giving nothing away, betraying none of his thoughts. His mask was firmly in place.

"I just came here today to –"

"Lecture me."

"_Instruct_ you."

"So when you said yesterday that you'd do whatever you can, whatever I need, you meant only when it's convenient for you?"

"What are you talking about?" Delia didn't remember her exact words from the evening before. Things had happened so quickly; it was all a blur.

"I'm talking about tonight." His voice was quiet but firm, his eyes intent on hers.

Delia sighed. "Tonight then. I'll be in my rooms after your party if you want to talk."

Draco's posture relaxed with something that might have been relief. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted. "I daresay I'll take you up on that."

Delia laughed. She couldn't help it. He was acting like she had just freely offered to see him, rather than having been manipulated into it.

"In a little over three hours, this house is going to be full of supporters of Grindelwald and their descendents. You'll excuse me if I don't see the humor." His relief was gone, replaced by simmering anger.

Delia shook her head, still laughing, and Draco stood, his expression thunderous. "What the hell is so goddamned _funny_? Don't you take anything seriously? Do you understand what, exactly, is at stake here? Because if you don't, I'll be happy to tell you. If the Germans –"

"I get it, Draco. The Germans aren't funny, not at all. You, however…do you ever _listen_ to yourself?"

He blinked, confused. "Listen to myself? I'm not sure I follow."

Delia smiled. "We can discuss it tonight, if you like. I'll leave you to your work, okay?"

He sank back into his chair and looked up at her. "Tonight then."

She gave a reassuring nod, then left his alone with his scrolls and thoughts.

*****

Dana had just finished tidying her office when Catherine pulled the door open and entered without knocking. Rather than asking if Dana had _obliviated_ Ginny as instructed, the division head ordered, "Gather your team. You're in the field in thirty minutes."

"What? Why?" Dana didn't recall ever being sent on a mission without a thorough training and briefing first.

"Midas dreamed about the Dark Lord last night. He remembers that there was a sacrifice. Your team will do cleanup and evidence collection."

"I've never been to a sacrifice site before," Dana protested. Professor Vector had died while Dana was still in specialization training.

"Your team has the most experience of any in the Division," Catherine said. "They'll know what to do. Let Agent Saturn take the lead if you feel uncomfortable. You have thirty minutes."

"How long will we be out there, do you think?" It was already late afternoon.

Catherine arched an eyebrow. "Why? Do you have something better to do?"

Dana remained silent. She couldn't very well say that she was meeting her Death Eater sister. Catherine looked at her watch. "Twenty-nine minutes, Nimue. Get moving."

*****

Ginny folded her arms across her chest as the spiral staircase wound up to the Headmaster's office. "Do you think Dana's memory charm came out with so much force because of whatever happened last night?" Harry asked.

Ginny said, "I don't know. It's possible." It was probable, in actual fact, and she fully intended to ask Mórrígan later.

"We should –" But before Harry could tell her what they should do, they reached the top of the stairs and the door swung open.

"Harry," the Headmaster said from inside. "I received your owl this morning. Catherine Connor tells me there's been another sacrifice. Are you –" Just then, Ginny walked into the room and Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence. She hadn't been in his office since the day after the Dementor attack and hadn't had any contact with him at all since she left school. "Hello, Ginny. This is a pleasant surprise."

"Dumbledore." It might have been a curt greeting, bordering on rude, but at least she was speaking to him.

The Headmaster motioned to a small settee, and Harry and Ginny sat. Dumbledore took an armchair across from them, then conjured a pot of tea and three cups. "What can you tell me?"

"Not much," said Harry. "The dreams are always hard to remember. But this sacrifice was different from the others."

"How?"

"I can't describe it." Harry was quiet for a moment as he searched for words. "The _feeling_ was different. I don't know how to explain."

"Ginny?" Dumbledore turned to her, his tone gentle. "Is there anything _you_ can tell me?"

"No." There was a moment of silence, then Ginny realized Dumbledore and Harry both waited for her to elaborate. She said, "I don't remember much about it either. But there was _something_ different, Harry's right. The magic was much more powerful. The balance…"

"Yes?" Dumbledore prompted.

"It's thrown off. I can feel it."

"Voldemort is meddling with forces beyond his control," the Headmaster said.

"Or forces beyond his control are meddling with him, which seems much more likely, all things considered," Ginny corrected.

Dumbledore looked taken aback. "I beg your pardon?" Even Harry was surprised.

"There's so much more to this than the dark side against the light side," Ginny said, impatient at their shortsightedness. "This is how it's playing out here, but the Otherworld is in conflict too. Mórrígan and Macha –" She stopped the moment the goddesses' names left her mouth. She had no business discussing them here. It wasn't her place to tell the Headmaster about the Otherworld without Mórrígan's express permission.

She could see in Dumbledore's eyes that he understood. "Very well," he said. "Is there a way for us to discover what's going on? The threat is snowballing; we need to stop it before it grows too large to combat."

Harry shook his head. "Severus Snape is the highest placed mole we have. If he doesn't know, there's no way to find out. Maybe there's a spell or some kind of potion…"

Ginny said, "Tonight is the Imbolc festival. I'll go to the Otherworld and see what information I can get from the goddess."

Harry turned to her. "I'm not sure I like you going there on your own, if they're in conflict like you say."

She rolled her eyes. _Your concern comes a little late. I'm there at least once a week_.

__

Are you serious? he asked. _Is it safe_?

__

No, she replied, _but I still go. For reasons I haven't figured out, Mórrígan is very concerned with keeping me alive. You don't need to worry_.

Dumbledore cleared his throat to interrupt their conversation. There were some things he had wanted, _needed_, to say. She was finally in his office. She'd taken the first step to reconciliation. He would take the second. He owed it to her to meet her halfway. "Ginny," he said, "I was sorry to hear about Shannon's death. I remember her from her days at Hogwarts, and I want to express my condolences to you, as well as to Gwen and Ria."

"I'll bet you do," Ginny muttered.

Harry groaned. And they'd been doing so well…

Dumbledore hesitated at her sarcasm, then pressed on. "And I wanted to tell you that I understand why you left the Division. I want to make sure you know that I'm sorry for pushing you into being an auror, that it was probably the hardest thing I've ever done. I didn't like it any better than you did, but it was the only way for me to actively involve you in the fight of the light side. You needed to learn what the training taught. But you were hurt, and it was not your choice, and I'm sorry for that."

Ginny's mouth fell open in surprise, and then she shut it with a snap. "You're _sorry_?"

He nodded. "I hope we can move beyond our past. It's important that we can have a good working relationship, because –"

"I'll accept your apology –"

"You will?" Dumbledore interrupted.

"When you can give back the five years of my life stolen by you and your cause. When you give my best friend back. And not a minute before."

"Ginny," Dumbledore said patiently, "you have to look to the future and be ready to face what lies ahead."

"Or else I'm – What was it you called me when I said I didn't want to join the division? – selfish and self-centered, I believe were your words."

Harry looked back and forth as though he were a spectator at a tennis match.

Dumbledore said, "I just wanted you to know –"

"That you're very sorry for making me an Auror. I don't have to listen to this shit. Harry, come find me when you're done." And, with that, she left. The door slammed shut behind her.

"Give her time," Harry said as he refilled the old man's teacup. "Shannon's only been dead a week. Everything is still too fresh. Once she's a little more removed from the situation…"

"She was an angry girl who's grown into an angry woman," Dumbledore sighed. "Of all the Weasleys who could've received that diary, why did Lucius Malfoy have to choose the one with such an important destiny?"

"Because Percy would've put lecture notes in it," Harry guessed.

Dumbledore smiled at the week joke, but his eyes were still troubled. "You'll let me know what she learns in the Otherworld tonight?"

"Of course," Harry replied. "I'm still an Auror. You know where I stand. I'm behind you as much as I can be." He drained the last of his cup and stood. "I'd better find her."

"Check the Arithmancy classroom" the Headmaster suggested.

*****

As Dumbledore predicted, Harry found Ginny in the Arithmancy classroom, sitting in an empty desk chatting with Hermione. She seemed troubled, but Hermione hadn't asked why and Ginny hadn't volunteered any information.

Harry knocked on the open door as he walked in. Both young women looked up and smiled. He gave Hermione a brotherly hug, then slid into the desk next to Ginny and threaded his fingers through hers. Hermione raised her eyebrows and Harry gave a very small nod. Just enough to tell her…as his meaning dawned, Hermione's grin intensified and she said, "This calls for a celebration."

Ginny, who was still thinking of Dumbledore, frowned. "What does?"

"Imbolc," Harry said. He brushed his lips across her knuckles and smiled. "Do you and Ron want to go to the festival tonight, 'Mione?"

"We'd been planning on it. I really should stay to grade the fifth years' homework, but…"

"You work too hard," Ron said from the doorway. He kissed his wife hello and then turned to his best friend. "Hi, Harry, Gin." When he moved closer to give his sister a hug, Ron spotted Harry's hand entwined with Ginny's. His freckly face broke into a grin. Harry laughed and Ron said, "It's about time, you two." He leaned down and whispered to Ginny, "You couldn't have waited another week? Now I owe Fred five Galleons."

"You…_what_?" she gasped.

Ron ruffled his sister's hair, then reached his arm around Hermione's waist and anchored her to his side. "Are you two going to eat in the Great Hall?" he asked. "Dobby told me that the elves are making a special meal for Imbolc eve."

"No," Ginny said. Sitting at the high table with Dumbledore would push her beyond all mental endurance, and she needed to save her strength for the Otherworld.

Harry understood. "We'll eat at The Three Broomsticks and then meet you in front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, all right?"

"We'll be there," Ron promised. He kissed Hermione's cheek and said, "Even this one is taking a night off, workaholic that she is."

__

This'll give you enough time to get to the Otherworld before they show up, Harry said.

__

Good idea, Ginny replied. _We'd better go then. It's already getting dark_.

*****

Dana had been wandering around these woods for half an hour, searching for the sacrifice site. Her feet were all but frozen, and her team members didn't look much better. Still, with a stubbornness that would've been more at home in a Gryffindor, she pressed on, didn't allow them any rests, didn't suggest they go back to the Division and try again in the morning. Ginny never had trouble finding the toxic magic and neutralizing it, and Dana was determined to show that she could do this job just as well as her predecessor had. She wasn't aiming to do the job _better_; for all of her Slytherin ambition, Dana was a practical person and knew that surpassing Ginny's skill as an Auror would be impossible.

Inspiration hit her out of the blue. She had an edge that Ginny didn't – her Old Magic. Dana pulled on her small silver spark, fanned it until it grew into a small flame, then used it to extend her perception. She searched through the woods until she hit a wall of magic that shouldn't have been there. Dana pushed inside, and was instantly sorry that she had.

The black magic pulled on her power; it jumped to life and jerked her mind inside, dragged her to the place where that dark ritual had been performed the night before…the twilight woods melted away as a series of pictures flashed before her eyes.

A woman, fierce and tall, with long red hair, driving a sword into Ginny Weasleys' chest, tearing Ginny's blue ballgown, a mortal blow.

Creatures, dark and twisted, inching across an open plain and falling upon an army of beautiful, ethereal warriors. On one side of the field was the woman who'd stabbed Ginny; on the other, one who bore an astonishing resemblance to the first, but for her face which was twisted with malice.

Voldemort, holding his hand aloft. A black ring on his fourth finger glittered in the light and he laughed.

Ginny and Draco Malfoy, hand-in-hand in a room Dana didn't recognize, surrounded by women in gauzy white gowns and crescent moons tattooed on their foreheads. They looked at each other, wide-eyed, then Draco leaned down and whispered in Ginny's ear. Whatever he said caused a slight smile to flit across her face.

Next, Dana saw herself, with her twin, both of them sweaty, disheveled, and bleeding, as though after a fight. Behind the Dana of the vision, positioned just outside of her line of sight, stood Harry, his wand drawn and aimed at her back. Then, he fired.

The visions came faster now –

Ginny and Draco screaming.

Ginny pulling Harry into a passionate kiss.

Harry and Draco pulling their wands on each other.

Mike looking at Dana from across a room, then turning and leaving without a word.

Draco tackling Ginny. She crashed headfirst into the ground, and he landed on top of her.

Harry catching Ginny just as she was about to fall.

Delia looking into a mirror with Ginny standing behind her. Suddenly, Delia turned and swung, a blow that Ginny ducked with no trouble. Ginny spoke, an insolent smile on her face, and Delia's expression creased in rage.

Draco, Harry, and Ginny standing in a forest, talking to a centaur.

And then, the beautiful red-haired woman with the twisted, malicious look in her eyes. She looked straight out at Dana, extended her hand, and whispered, "Mine."

The woods snapped back into focus. Dana looked around, dazed, and realized that she hadn't fallen behind the group. These sights had all passed in a moment, the mere blink of an eye. "This way," she called to her team. She followed where her power led, and they trailed behind.

A vision experience like this couldn't pass undiscussed. There was only one person in the world with whom Dana could talk about something of so much importance. It was a good thing she was meeting Dee tonight.

*****

Draco looked at his watch. Gods, but he was bored. These people barely spoke English. Voldemort had paraded them through the dungeons so they could admire how many Aurors were being held prisoner, and then past a special cell, set apart from the rest, where Stella Screwtape had cowered and sobbed for most of the night. Hardly Pendragon behavior. He might not have known Ginny Weasley very well from school, but he thought it was a fair guess that she'd never beg for mercy. Not for herself, at any rate. How anyone could think there was a chance that sniveling mess could be the Otherworldly warrior was beyond him. Although by this time he was fully aware of the color of her blood, Voldemort kept up the Screwtape-as-Pendragon charade for the Germans. However, Ginny Weasley was the one they were looking for. At this point, all the Death Eaters knew it. It was a race to see who could get to her first – Draco or the Dark Lord. A race Voldemort didn't know he was running.

Draco had Mark watching Potter's apartment, Eliot at the Ministry, Pansy at Diagon Alley, and Neil at Hogsmeade. They'd find her. He just hoped it would be sooner rather than later. Everyone in his faction was prepared to evacuate the Manor at a moment's notice. They'd been on high alert ever since Screwtape bled red and Voldemort had declared Ginny to be the one he needed.

Draco was tired of his birthday party. He couldn't fully enjoy himself; the stress was too much. He was keyed up and nervous. Something to take his mind off of their situation, even for a few hours, would be more than welcome. Blaise could handle any problems that might come up. Draco just needed a distraction.

All but a very few of the British Wizards had retired, pleading exhaustion, leaving him alone with the foreigners. Draco didn't speak German. They all talked amongst themselves, and had all but forgotten his presence. He looked at his watch again. He had at least three hours before Delia came back from her date…or whatever it was she was doing. Privately, he thought she'd made it up to keep him from taking her for granted. He might as well put that time to good use. He still had a mountain of paperwork to do.

Draco indicated that he was going to take his leave, and said the one phrase he'd managed to pick up. "_Auf Wiedersehen_."

A chorus of voices rang back to him. He supposed they were telling him to have a good night, or to sleep well, or other such pleasantries. He nodded and smiled, shook a few hands, then escaped to the sanctuary of his study and tried not to think about Ginny Weasley, to wonder where she was right now, and if Voldemort had found her first.

*****

Ginny stood in front of the oak tree that grew on the banks of the lake. Harry asked, "You're sure this'll work?"

She nodded. "It's how I got there on my birthday during sixth year."

"I remember," he said. "You came back soaking wet. I was worried out of my mind."

"Mórrígan dropped me in the lake."

She paced around the tree, and Harry eyed it skeptically. "How did you do it then, exactly?"

"I just…sort of hugged it, I guess."

"It's not technically the calendar feast until tomorrow, though. Do you think it'll still work?"

Ginny shrugged. "Do you think things like that matter to the Mórrígan? If she wants me in the Otherworld, she'll get me there, natural laws be damned. It's one of the perks of being a goddess."

"I guess." He didn't think he'd ever get over her casual mentions of the Mórrígna deities. To most people, the goddesses were remote and invisible, watching over wizardkind from afar. For Ginny, though, they were people she _knew_ on a personal level. It was an unsettling reminder that Ginny was different from everyone else. She was the bridge to the Otherworld, a place where only she could go, and he couldn't follow.

She wound her arms around his neck and drew him down into a long kiss. "I'll be back soon," she whispered against his mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured.

She smiled, kissed him once more, then stepped out of his embrace. She reached for the tree, and vanished the moment her fingers touched the bark. Harry couldn't hold back a shout of surprise. His end of the link stretched out, and was blocked by darkness. She was nowhere in this world. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

*****

The moment Ginny landed, Mórrígan's hand closed around her upper arm with enough force to cut off circulation. She tried to pull away, but the goddess held her. "It's nice to see you too," Ginny said.

In response, the goddess backhanded Ginny across the face. Ginny's head snapped to the side and she sucked in a sharp breath at the explosion of pain. She raised her free hand to her cheek; her fingers came away smeared with silver. One of Mórrígan's rings had cut her skin. "That was uncalled for."

"This is not a game, Virginia," the goddess snarled. "Last night, the stakes were raised higher than ever before and what were you doing? Instead of guarding the balance, you were copulating with your protector."

"It wasn't like that. You know it wasn't. How was I supposed to know what Voldemort -" The goddess swung a second time, and Ginny just managed to duck the blow. She wrenched herself out of Mórrígan's grasp and stumbled back a few steps, putting herself out of reach.

Mórrígan's face contorted with rage. "You would've known if you'd found your other protector as I told you to do nearly _six years ago_. What in my name have you been doing all this time?"

"Well, I've been an Auror…" Ginny began, but it sounded weak even to herself.

"Your destiny is not something to be trifled with, Virginia. Things will not fall into place just because the Universe has decreed them so. Destiny is potential, that is all. But if you don't fulfill your potential, if you don't do the things that you're meant to do, when you're meant to do them, then the opportunity is lost forever and will not be presented a second time. Why haven't you found your other protector?"

The only answer Ginny could think of was, "Dumbledore told me not to."

"And you fly against my orders because the old man _told_ you to? I am the Mórrígan, Virginia. I'm not your friend, or your Professor, or your team leader. I am the Phantom Queen and I will not be disregarded." With each word, Mórrígan seemed to grow, become more terrible. Her hair blew about her, sparked and crackled with power. She was too bright, too awesome to look at. Ginny lowered her eyes. When she raised them again, the goddess was again back to her usual self.

Ginny asked, "What's going on? What happened to the balance? Could it really have been prevented?"

"No one ever tells what could have been, Virginia. Not even I know that."

They faced each other in silence for a moment, then Ginny asked, "What now?"

"You refused to find your protector on your own, so I will give you a push in the right direction. A bit of help."

"Thank you."

Mórrígan's mouth twisted with sadistic anticipation. "Don't thank me yet, Virginia. Perhaps this will make you understand; if I tell you to do something, I will be obeyed." She trailed her hand over Ginny's cheek, a butterfly-light caress that healed the silver cut.

The look in the goddess's eyes made her nervous. "What are you going to do?"

"Goodbye, Virginia. It will be a while before you see me again. Remember, above all else, to trust yourself."

The ground crumbled under Ginny's feet and she dropped through the earth. In the blink of an eye, she was near the ceiling of a richly paneled room. Ginny crashed face-first to the thick carpet. She groaned at the impact. A flurry of voices swirled around her in a language that wasn't English. Ginny rolled over to face the ceiling and saw two dozen men standing in a circle, bending over her, astonishment plain on every face. Her shirt bunched up around her waist; she realized too late that her tattoo was plain for all to see.

Another round of talk; it sounded like German. Ginny could only pick out one word, repeated over and over. _Jezebel._ Then came some nasty laughter, and another word she knew. _Crucio_.

Ginny clenched her teeth together and fought back a scream.

*****

A/N part two: What happens when Draco and Ginny come face-to-face? Find out in chapter four!

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. You all are my heroes.

Zandith Owens; ThomasJ; Pottergirl; Anna Marie; RoxyFoxy1305; Dash and Stash; adrianblaze; Lana Potter; Sasery [twice!]; Lily Evans Jr.; Lupe Silverwing; Radical Ravenclaw; Marna; Dragon Eyes; Cloudzi; leprechaun babe; Dracoshottie; Athena; Silvermane; Calypso; SilverCatofBast; Thrasia; Jen [Yup, Galatea is part two in a three-part story. There's plenty more to come.]; Michelle Ravel; Exploring Hogwarts Castle; and everyone who reviewed over email and at the yahoo group.

Each and every one of you is appreciated.

To quote Barb, please be a responsible reader and write a review. Feedback makes me a better writer, which translates to a better story for you to read.

If you want to be part of a great bunch of people, the HP Pendragon yahoo group is the place to be. We have outtakes, cookies, fan art, writing challenges, and lots of fun conversation. groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon is the place to be. I'd love to see you there.

Drop me a line anytime at irina@schnoogle.com. I love getting email and I always write back.

The chapter has now ended.


	4. Two Dragons

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Title and Chapter: Galatea Chapter four: Two Dragons (4/?) 

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Author Name: Irina

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Author Email: irina@schnoogle.com

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Category: Action/Adventure

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Keywords: destiny, adventure, Pendragon, mythology, post-Hogwarts

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Rating: R for violence, adult situations, and language

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Spoilers: All four books

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Summary: _Galatea_ is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in _The Rebirth_, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry…and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess [Sequel to _The Rebirth_.]

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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Author's Note: Galatea is the sequel to my first fic, "The Rebirth," and the second fic in what has been dubbed The Mórrígna Trilogy. Since Galatea is a sequel, please do read "The Rebirth" first to cut down on confusion. It's a great story; I promise. Many thanks to my beta readers, Danette and DRI, who are both very cool. Thanks to Melissa for talking me through various Weasley issues and always being up for a good time. Thanks to Nome for helping me with my writer's block. Thanks to the Elder Wyrm for his extremely helpful feedback, especially on the first Draco/Ginny scene. Last but not least, thanks to my muses on the HP Pendragon yahoo group for being so much fun. And now, on with the show.

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Chapter Four

Two Dragons

__

He's a cold-hearted snake

Look into his eyes

He's been telling lies…

He don't play by the rules

Girl, don't play the fool now.

--Paula Abdul

Harry waited outside the Three Broomsticks for at least half an hour before he was spotted. He pulled up the collar of his coat, kept his head ducked down low, and tried to blend in. Unfortunately, his mop of hair was rather distinctive. Someone eventually noticed.

"It's Potter! Harry bleedin' Potter!" a man yelled.

Harry looked up, startled, and a flashbulb went off in his face. Dozens of photographers crowded around him, shooting their cameras, shouting questions.

"Harry, where's Ginny Weasley?"

"What is the status of your relationship with Miss Weasley?"

"Is it true that you two were married in a secret ceremony in the Dominican Republic?"

"Is she really having your baby?"

"Mr. Potter! Look this way!"

"Over here, Harry!"

He shoved his way through the crowd, pulled open the door to the pub, and elbowed his way in. It was packed with revelers for the calendar festival, but not a single agent of the press was allowed inside. Madame Rosmerta had special wards put on the building: customers only. Not to be dissuaded, the paparazzi shot photos through the windows. Harry could hear the popping of their flashbulbs, the clicking of their film. He took a seat in the corner, facing the rear of the dining room. Let them photograph the back of his head, if they were of a mind.

He hated this part of his life. All the attention, for something he couldn't even remember doing. He felt like a fraud, being held up as the hope of the wizarding world, when in fact Ginny was the one they all should be looking to. Their love and admiration belonged to her.

Harry ordered a Butterbeer and waited. Ron and Hermione would know where he was. The moment they saw the press they'd realize he'd gone inside to wait. Ginny would be back soon; she'd know where to find him as well. He sighed as he thought of her reaction to the tabloid journalists in the street. She hated being the center of attention, and would probably go around the back way the moment she saw them. It was one more thing he loved about her; he'd never have to worry that she was with him for the attention. She'd be getting enough of that on her own, soon enough.

"It's a circus out there," Hermione said as she slid into the opposite side of the booth. Her hair was mussed from pushing through the phalanx of reporters.

Ron's smile was wicked. "What's this about you and Ginny running away and having a baby?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I haven't the faintest idea. Today was the first I'd heard of it."

"No doubt," Hermione said, her voice sympathetic.

"Still," Ron said, refusing to let it drop. "The Dominican Republic is nice, I'm told. Warmer than here, at any rate."

"Anywhere is warmer than here," Harry said. "Have they left yet?"

Ron leaned out and looked towards the windows. "Nah. I don't think they're going to, either, until they get a photo of you and Gin together. Everyone knows she's staying at your place. It's been in all the papers. My mum is livid."

Harry was troubled. He placed great value on Mrs. Weasley's opinion of him. "Is she really?"

"At the _papers_, prat. Not at you. All they've printed since Shannon died is that you and Ginny are shacking up, or secretly married, or having triplets. They've camped outside the Burrow for days, shouting questions at my parents whenever they come and go. 'How does it feel to be the future in-laws of the Boy Who Lived?' "

"Are you serious? Why didn't you say anything?" Harry felt awful. This wasn't how he wanted people he cared about to be treated, but he didn't know how to make it stop.

"Ron, shut up," Hermione said, kicking him under the table. She turned to Harry. "It's not so bad as all that. He's teasing you, mostly. There _have_ been some photographers, but nothing too bad. It'll die down soon, and they'll find something more interesting to talk about."

"Where _is_ Gin, anyway?" Ron asked, craning his neck to see if his sister was somewhere in the pub.

"She stepped out for a moment," Harry lied. "She'll be back any second."

"Stepped out?" Hermione asked. "What for?"

"Who knows?" Harry replied blandly. He waved a waiter over and ordered a second Butterbeer. Ginny might be thirsty when she returned.

Harry was only halfway through his drink when the darkness around Ginny's end of the link lifted. She was back in this world. The pub was only a fifteen-minute walk from the school; she'd be there soon. He used the edge of the table to pry the bottle cap off her drink, then poured it into a frosted mug, so it would be ready when she arrived. The glass was only half full, though, when every muscle in his body locked. The bottle slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor, shattered into a thousand pieces, spraying his shoes with Butterbeer and foam.

His friends stared. "Are you all right?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. "What is it? Is your scar okay?"

Harry stumbled to his feet. "Ginny is in trouble."

"In trouble?" Ron asked, sliding out of the booth. "How do you know? You said she just stepped out."

"I just know," Harry said. He looked to the front of the pub, but it was still crowded with press. "Come on. We have to find her." He threw a few sickles on the table, drew his wand, and ran for the back door. He didn't have to look to know that Ron and Hermione would follow him, as they always had.

Ginny was nowhere to be found. They combed the crowds, called her name, and Hermione even did a tricky locating charm she'd learned at Kelliwic, but to no avail. Ginny wasn't in the village. Harry was out of his mind with worry. Wherever she was, she was in terrible pain. It could even have been the Cruciatus Curse; he'd been on the wrong end of that spell a few times in his life, and knew what it felt like.

"Relax," Hermione told him, ever sensible. "Maybe she ran into someone and forgot to meet up with you at the pub."

"She didn't." Harry knifed his fingers through his hair and tried to think clearly. "Someone's taken her."

"You don't know that. You don't even know that she's in trouble," Ron pointed out.

"I do!" Harry shouted.

His friends were startled. "How?" Hermione asked quietly. She looked at him as though he'd gone 'round the bend, but she had the tact not to say as much.

"I'm –" Harry didn't know how to explain. "I just know. They have her, Ron. I don't know how, but they do."

"Let's think where she could've gone," Ron said, his strategic training coming to the fore. "Gwen's, Ria's, the Burrow, Mike's…"

"Exactly," Hermione said in a placating tone. "Let's look in those places before we jump to conclusions. She might have run into one of her friends, gone home with them without thinking about it…."

"How likely is that, really?" Harry asked. Why wouldn't they _understand_? Every minute they spent looking in a place where she wasn't was a minute lost that they could've spent actually _finding_ her. "She never would've gone anywhere without telling me; she just wouldn't have."

"Probably not," Ron acknowledged, "but we have to check." He was worried about his sister. It wasn't like her to just disappear. He was equally worried about his best friend, though, who was looking quite wild and not a little dangerous. And how could Harry have _known_ that Ginny had vanished? "Come on. The sooner we rule out friends' houses, the sooner we can go to the division and start a real search."

*****

Draco was just setting his seal onto the last document when someone knocked on his study door. "Come in," he called.

Howe, one of their German guests, stepped inside. His accent was thick, but his English was precise.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked. The older man's eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed.

Howe replied, "The Ministry law enforcement officials botched a raid on your home."

Draco frowned. "When?"

"Three hours ago. Perhaps four."

Draco wondered if the German was drunk. Best to humor him. "I see. And how exactly did this happen? None of the alarms were tripped. The wards are airtight, I assure you."

"An Auror dropped into the billiards room. She appeared out of thin air. A failed apparition. She must have missed her coordinates. I can only assume that her comrades have abandoned her to us since, as you said, none of your alarms have sounded."

Draco's eyes were now as round as saucers. "This happened four hours ago, and you're only now telling me? What the hell have you been _doing_ all this time?"

Howe's smile dripped with sadism. "Only what came naturally."

Draco leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His tone was icy cold. "And that would be?"

"_Crucio_, of course. We tried _Imperio_, but she fought it off."

"What else?"

Howe dropped into a chair on the other side of the desk. "She's mostly…unspoiled. A few broken ribs, perhaps. Nothing more serious than that. Your Dark Lord has provided women enough for us. We thought we'd save this one for you. Call it a birthday gift from the entire delegation."

Draco thought of Delia. A willing partner was so much more appealing than an unwilling one. "No thanks," he said. "You can have her."

"But you haven't heard the best part," Howe said, that grin creeping across his features once again. "I guarantee you'll want this one."

"I doubt it."

"She's beautiful," the German tempted.

So was Delia. "I'm not interested. Not tonight."

"One look at her and you'll change your mind."

"I don't think so." The man was starting to irritate him.

"Don't you want to know why?"

Howe had to be drunk. "I'm not going to change my mind," Draco explained patiently. "She's all yours, really."

"She has a tattoo right here," Howe said, pointing to his own hip. "A silver sword…"

Draco jumped to his feet. "Are you serious?" his voice was hoarse, his face etched with disbelief. Good gods above, what a birthday present. The best he'd ever received.

Howe nodded slowly. "Agent Jezebel, in the flesh. Dropped right into your billiards room."

"Where is she now?" Draco asked, his expression as sadistic as Howe's had been.

"In the dungeon. She's out cold. _Crucio_ stops being fun when they're unconscious. They don't scream."

Oh, he'd make her scream before the night was out. But the dungeons…Draco's lip curled in distaste. It was dirty and cold down there. He was going to do this right. He'd spent too many sleepless nights planning his revenge on the Auror who'd been the scourge of them all. "That's no good. Hang on a second." He pulled the bell and a house elf scurried in.

"Master Draco wants something?"

Draco said, "Mr. Howe is going to fetch a prisoner from the dungeons. Bring her to the east wing, fifth floor. You know what to do."

The elf trembled. "Yes, Master Draco." His eyes filled with tears at the thought of what Master Draco was going to do to the poor lady.

Oblivious to the elf's distress, he continued, "Once you've finished, go to Snape's lab and bring me a love potion. One with strong aphrodisiac properties; the strongest he has. When Delia Silvermoon gets back, tell her I've been unavoidably detained."

Howe chuckled. "Enjoy yourself tonight. I'll tell your father not to expect you for breakfast."

Oh yes, Draco would enjoy this immensely.

*****

Ginny sat in the center of the gigantic bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and stared straight ahead. The last thing she remembered was the dark room, and the mocking German voices. She'd woken up here. It didn't take a genius to figure out why they'd moved her. Apparently, curses were not the only tortures they decided to use on Agent Jezebel.

The moment she woke up, Ginny had examined her new prison. It was a huge room, with a square dining table, several armchairs and sofas arranged before an ornate fireplace, a wardrobe, a freestanding oval mirror, a sideboard against the wall, and an adjoining bathroom. Ignoring the persistent pain in her side that she knew meant broken ribs, Ginny had examined every inch of those walls, covered in wood paneling. The room had no door, no windows, no secret passages, no discernable way of getting in or out. She hadn't the faintest idea how she had come to be here, but she dreaded what was going to happen with a fear fathoms deeper than what she had felt in the billiards room. That, she could handle.

Without a doubt, the dominant piece of furniture was the bed. It reminded her of the one she'd seen in Mórrígan's home in the Otherworld; this one had to have been at least ten feet on a side, covered with a spread of dark blue satin. It must have been made for a giant. Ginny felt like she was sitting in the middle of an ocean of fabric. The bed had tall posts and curtains that could be opened or closed, as the sleeper wished. Ginny had pulled them half way shut, and made herself very small in the shadows. She knew she couldn't avoid what was coming, and she had been trained to deal with this very eventuality. Still, she hadn't expected that it would be like this. Trapped in an ornate prison with no doors, left alone to anticipate the imminent violence; it was the worst torture of all. Then, she heard a noise.

She dropped her head, not wanting to look but unable to stop. Out of the corner of her eye, and through the curtain of her hair, Ginny saw a panel in the wall dissolve and a man walked in. She couldn't tell much about him, except that he was tall and had the distinctive silver-blond hair of a Malfoy. Her hands fisted convulsively. She had figured that they were going to rape her, but to send _Lucius_…it was her worst nightmare.

The wall closed up as soon as he was inside the room, and the man leaned against it. He didn't approach her; just stood and took in her small frame, curled up in the darkness. Ginny felt a small bit of satisfaction; he thought she was broken, defeated. She had already accepted that he would rape her, but damned if she was going to make it easy for him. With the element of surprise, she could cause some serious harm. Ginny tilted her head a bit more. Thanks to the shadows created by the curtains, she got a clear look without letting him see any of her.

Her blood froze. It wasn't Lucius. It was the only Death Eater who was, in fact, worse. Draco. How much harder was this going to be with someone she'd known as a child? She'd watched him play Seeker opposite Harry when he was only twelve years old, for god's sake. He was Voldemort's right hand man; everyone knew it, but no one could prove it. She hadn't spoken to him since the Beltaine ball, but she knew his reputation.

Draco Malfoy was a hedonist to the core, and yet always with an element of cold control, always taking advantage of every situation. She knew he had a brilliant strategic mind, and that he completely lacked anything resembling a conscience. He had rocketed through the Death Eater ranks, and it wasn't because he'd won _Witch Weekly's_ most eligible bachelor award six years running, breaking the record previously held by Gilderoy Lockhart. It was because he was ruthless, arrogant, formidably intelligent, and power was his drug of choice.

A sickly sweet, tangy smell stung Ginny's nose. Her eyes drifted to the goblet in his hand. She knew exactly what it contained. A love potion. He brought a love potion. How much worse could it get? Not only was he going to force her, but he was going to turn her body against her and make it a willing accomplice in the assault. Her sanity would be in shreds by morning.

For a moment, Ginny seriously considered killing him. She could do it without even breaking a sweat. A sharp twist of his neck, or even a quick, wandless _Avada Kedavra_, and that would be the end of him. But what would happen when the others discovered her in this room with his body? Or, if she managed to get out, how would she make it through the mansion without being caught? Killing him would be her death sentence. There was no way she could fight off all the Death Eaters, plus these Germans, and live to tell about it, and there was no way Harry would be able to get here in time to help. When she thought of Harry, her heart constricted inside her chest. She had to stay alive; that was her only priority. She had a responsibility to stay alive.

But a _love potion_! The edges of Ginny's mind began to fray in panic, although she remained curled in a ball, head down. Let him think she was passive. She'd take any advantage she could get.

Draco watched at the girl who waited for him on the bed. It was hard to believe that this was truly Agent Jezebel. She looked so small. He had always thought that a woman who could bring in so many dark wizards must be built like an amazon. He had expected her to be six feet tall, covered all over in bulging muscles. Not this tiny, forlorn figure. She knew why he was there; she wasn't stupid. But she was afraid. He felt a sort of satisfaction at that. Draco very much looked forward to exacting his revenge on the one who had so decimated the ranks of his followers. And Howe had said she was beautiful, which was certainly an added treat.

"Look at me," he said, in a tone that showed he was used to being obeyed. Jezebel didn't move. He walked toward her, his slow, measured steps muffled by the thick carpet. He was going to draw this out as long as he could, go as slowly as possible. He relished the game of cat and mouse, and sincerely hoped she tried to fight him before she drank the potion. That would make the outcome much more satisfying.

She shrank back, retreating further into the shadows that cris-crossed the bed. Draco taunted, "I must say, Jezebel, that you're a bit of a let down. I didn't expect the Ministry's most formidable auror to cower, although I rather like this side of you." He slowly slid one of the curtains aside. "You can taste it, can't you? The fear, the anticipation. It's sour on your tongue, like blood. I'd see it in your eyes too, if you'd look at me. You think…_bloody fucking hell_!" The candlelight spilled through the open hangings and across her bent head. Only one young woman of his acquaintance had hair that peculiar shade of red. Could it be? After all his attempts to abduct her, was it possible that she had fallen into his lap?

At his sudden outburst, Ginny jerked her head up, raising her eyes to his. Draco slammed the goblet down on the night table. "Damn you, Weasley. Damn you to hell!" He turned on his heel stalked to the mirror, and stood there, back to her, head down, for a long moment as he fought for control. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked back to the bed. "Why the hell did it have to be you? Of all the people it could have been, it _had _to be you." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his robe. He spoke now in a low voice, as much disappointed as annoyed. "I've been waiting years to exact this revenge, and now.…"

He took in her battered countenance. Both of her eyes were blackened, her lower lip was puffy, and the swelling around her chin indicated a broken jaw. She was allover bruises, the dark purple-green obscuring the buttery freckles that normally flecked her nose and cheekbones. Draco shook off his shock and forced himself to think clearly. A complete change of plan was in order. Agent Jezebel was one thing, but Ginny Weasley was quite another.

He crawled across the bed towards her, and she recoiled violently, scrambling away until her back pressed against the headboard. Draco pulled out his wand, and she held up her hands as though to ward off a curse. If it were anyone else, he'd have laughed, but there was nothing funny about this. "I'm just going to fix your face," he said slowly, as though he was talking to someone who was poised to jump off a cliff. "I'm just going to fix your face, and then we're going to talk."

Ginny plainly didn't believe him. She kept her hands up, and he knew she could do just as much damage with them, magical and otherwise, as she could with a wand. He didn't want to find himself on the wrong end of an unforgivable curse. Draco said calmly, "All right then. I'm going to put my wand down." She watched him lower the wand to the coverlet. Then, in a motion so swift she barely had time to respond, he jerked it up and said, "_Medicor_!"

Ginny didn't wait to hear what the spell was; she reacted the moment she detected his movement. A silver light shot out of her palms and hit him squarely in the chest, hurling him off the bed. As he pulled himself off the floor, Ginny realized that he had, in fact, performed a healing charm. She opened and closed her mouth experimentally; her jaw was still a bit sore. Other than that, though, her face felt fine. The bruises and black eyes were healed. Draco sounded disgruntled; "Do you always assault people who try to help you?"

He got no response. "Shoot first and ask questions later. Typical Gryffindor. Howe said they broke your ribs. Can I heal them without any attempts on my life?" Still she was silent. He was going to have to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground he gained with her, but Draco wouldn't have it any other way. Anything worth having was worth working for, and he had been planning this particular campaign for nearly six years.

"The wand has to touch you for the spell to work," he said. It didn't; he had fixed her jaw just fine, after all. But he had to get closer to her. He didn't want to have this conversation from across the absurdly massive bed. "I'm just going to crawl over there and heal you."

He hadn't moved more than an inch, however, before her palms were up again and she was looking at him with the wildness of a caged animal. She was very close to panic. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise," he said with every ounce of sincerity he could muster.

Her eyes flicked to the love potion, and then back to him. Draco twigged. "I'll be right back." She stiffened when he grabbed the goblet, but then stared as he walked into the attached bathroom and dumped its contents down the sink. He set the empty vessel on the sideboard as he crossed the room and crawled back onto the bed. "Take that as a sign of good faith," he told her. "Now let me fix your ribs."

Ginny didn't lower her hands, but her fear visibly lessened as he removed the potion from the equation. Draco knew that would've been the worst part of it for her: the idea that her body would be willing, even as her mind fought him. It was a non-issue now; she didn't know it, but he had no intention of causing her physical harm. She was too valuable for what she was, and he needed her mind intact. The torture was over, and the manipulation had begun.

He touched the tip of his wand to her side and softly said, "_Sano_." The magic flowed into her and knit her bones back together. Ginny took a deep breath, and prodded the spot with her fingers. The pain was gone. The moment the spell and been performed, Draco threw his wand across the room. It struck the wall near where the door had appeared and landed on the floor, the sound muted by the thick rug. Her eyes widened at his sudden movement and Draco braced himself for another shot from her hands, but none came. "Now I'm unarmed. Do you believe yet that I'm not going to hurt you?"

She plainly didn't. Draco couldn't help but feel a bit flattered, that his reputation among the Aurors was so black that even the most dangerous of them was frightened at the thought of being in his power. But he didn't want Ginny to be afraid of him. That wouldn't do at all. He reached for her; her eyes widened and she extended her palms once again. He froze, his hand hovering a bare centimeter from her cheek. "You don't have to be afraid," he said quietly, his gray eyes intent on her face. "I give you my word, and you have no reason to believe I won't keep it."

To his acute surprise, she brought her hands to his wrist. Slowly, without speaking, she slid his cufflink from its mooring and set the piece of silver on the bed. Draco remained silent, curious as to what she was doing. Ginny carefully rolled up his sleeve, each motion deliberate. Her fingers never touched the skin of his arm, but he felt them pressing through the fabric of his shirt. One more fold, and his mark was revealed, livid against the pale of his skin. She looked at it for a long moment, and then raised her eyes to his, their expression both accusing and resigned. She would not believe a word that came out of his mouth, as long as he wore Voldemort's brand. His promise was worthless because he was a Death Eater. She hadn't spoken, but her actions were more eloquent than words ever could've been.

Suddenly, and without knowing why, Draco brought his hand to her cheek. Her eyes widened, and he knew she was about to pull away and very likely blast him again, but the silence was rent by the shriek of a crow. "What the hell!" he exclaimed, looking around the room. There was no way a bird could've gotten in here. At the noise, Ginny squeezed her eyes closed. That sound could only mean one thing, and the prospect was too horrible to contemplate. A half second after she realized what was happening, Draco had the same epiphany. "Look at me," he ordered for the second time since he entered the room. She kept her eyes shut. His laughter mocked her. "All right, have it your way. I'll wait. You have to open them sometime."

Ginny's mind raced. Mórrígan, it seemed, had indeed dropped her right on top of the second protector, and the moment Ginny's eyes met his their souls were going to link. She felt physically ill at the idea of having part of Draco Malfoy inside of her, of giving him a piece of herself. But, at the same time, there was no way she was going to get out of this situation. The goddess had put her here, and, just like Harry, he had been born to fill this role. She could only face it head on. There was no other way of doing this and still maintaining her pride.

Ginny looked up at him, and his mouth curved up in a satisfied smile. The smirk dropped from his face, however, as he felt himself open to her. As had happened with Harry so many years before, Ginny felt part of herself being torn away; the cavity in her soul was immediately filled by something that was the essence of Draco. In that moment, she saw everything that he was, everything he had ever done. For no more than a breath of time, all of him was open to her. Just as soon as it had started, the moment was over.

Ginny looked at him in mute horror, and then jerked away and scrambled off the bed, running for the bathroom. Somewhere in the noise of her retching, Draco thought he heard a muffled sob. He lounged on the bed and watched her through the open door. He supposed it wasn't the most flattering reaction, but he couldn't blame her. After she sicked up what little food she'd eaten in the past day, Ginny sat on the floor for a long moment, and then pulled herself to her feet and walked back into the bedroom. She didn't come near him.

Draco looked at her for a long moment. She was no longer battered, but her clothes were torn and her hair was matted with grime from the dungeon. He said, "I'm going to leave now, and when I come back I'll bring food. In the meantime, you should take a shower. I'll have the elves bring you fresh clothes." He slid off the bed and walked toward the wall to retrieve his wand. Feeling the question in her mind, he turned and said, "It's an ingenious prison, really. Anyone can get in, but you can't get out unless you have a mark, or are a house elf. Or," he added thoughtfully, "unless you decimate the place."

Ginny spoke for the first time. Her voice was scratchy, low, and deadly serious. "You think I couldn't raze this building to the ground with a thought? You think I couldn't bring it crashing down and bury you and the rest of the filth?"

He smiled. "There's not a doubt in my mind that you could do exactly that. But you'd never, because you'd also bury the people we're holding in the dungeons. Could you really condemn them all? Not to mention the fact that it's in the best interest of balance to keep me alive, and you know that Dana would never forgive you if something happened to Delia."

He was right on every count, damn him. He knew every twist and turn of her mind, could now predict her reaction to nearly every circumstance. She hated him.

Draco paused, then asked, "In the billiards room, were there any wizards you knew?" His tone was nonchalant, as though the question didn't matter.

"What?"

"Was there anyone in the room who would've recognized you?"

"They _all_ recognized me."

"As Ginny Weasley, I mean."

She thought for a moment. "Goyle was there."

"Senior or junior?"

"Junior. He's the only one who would've known who I am."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Clean yourself up, Ginny. I'll be back soon." He pressed against the wall and was gone.

Ginny stood alone. She remembered how Harry had been when their link had first opened up; the way his soul had merged with hers until she had figured out how to keep them separate. She honestly thought she'd die of contamination if Draco's spirit ever bled into her, which meant that putting up a wall was her first priority. She could have it done by the time he returned.

But then, a wild, Gryffindorian plan occurred to her. She was bound to Draco for life now, like it or not. If Harry bled into her, perhaps it would work both ways. And if enough of her leaked into Draco, he could be persuaded to let her go. It was a risk, but Ginny didn't have any choice. She'd leave the link wide open, and hope that it didn't take him too long to realize that he couldn't keep her locked up in here. She was needed elsewhere, and it was her only chance to escape.

*****

Draco jogged down the hall and pulled open the door to the solarium that his faction had claimed for their own. They looked up as he walked in, taking in his energetic expression, straight posture, and bright eyes. He was more animated than he'd been in weeks. He'd shed his frustration and anxiety for his familiar confidence. The _old_ Draco, the one who oozed charisma and brilliance, the one who'd recruited so many of them to his side, had returned.

"We're back in the game," he announced. "Call the others home. Paul, go to the kitchens and have the elves make up dinner for two. Sarah, go to the billiards room and get the younger Goyle right away. Bring him to my office; don't take no for an answer. Grace, the _second _Eliot walks in the door, send him to the study as well. Blaise, come with me."

They stared, openmouthed. "Draco," a young man ventured cautiously, "what's happened? What's going on?"

In just a few sentences, Draco sketched in the events of the past few hours. "You're telling me she's right down the hall?" Blaise asked, incredulous.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. Voldemort has _no idea_. As long as she hides behind the name Jezebel, we can keep him in the dark long enough to make her see things our way."

Andrea said, "They'll want to kill her in the morning. They only gave her to you for a night…."

"So I'll tell them I liked her," Draco said, his cheeks flushed with excitement and the thrill of a challenge. It had been so long since he'd matched wits with someone who was truly his equal; he'd been mentally stagnant the past few months, and felt energized by the imminent psychological battle. Ginny wouldn't know what hit her. "I'll tell them I want to keep her for a while. Do you honestly think anyone will say no? Especially when they know the potion is slowly driving her mad?"

"You gave her a potion?" Blaise demanded.

"Of course not! But Howe _thinks_ I did, and it'll get back to Voldemort. It's all part of the cover story." He looked around the room, met every person's eyes. They were bolstered by his confidence; his supreme assurance had been missed in the past weeks. "We have the upper hand. For once in this whole bloody mess, we finally have the upper hand. Stay on alert; you never know what could happen." Still, he didn't think anything could go wrong. Not now, when things were finally going so right. Draco sent a silent prayer to the Mórrígan for this gift. He was sure the goddess had been behind it; there was no way the Pendragon would ever miss her apparition coordinates.

*****

When Goyle lumbered into Draco's study, he was slightly taken aback. Draco was there, of course, but Eliot Downing and Blaise Zabini flanked him on either side. Eliot and Blaise didn't smile, Draco did.

"Greg," Draco said, coming around the desk to shake the hand of his old classmate. "How are you?"

"Fine," Goyle grunted. He'd never been one to talk much, and had never quite known what to do with Draco. The Malfoy heir was the same age as he, but much smarter. Goyle always felt slightly dizzy after talking to him; Draco knew so many big words, and even though Goyle didn't always understand what he was saying, Draco's tone told him enough. Malfoy held him in contempt because he was slower than most, and for that Goyle's admiration mingled with resentment and jealousy. Still, Draco was the Dark Lord's second in command and was now greeting Goyle as though they were old school chums, the best of mates. Goyle wasn't bright enough to be suspicious at this change in attitude; he was only flattered that someone high in the Death Eater hierarchy was smiling at him. Maybe it signaled a change in luck, or even a promotion!

"We go way back, don't we, Greg?" Draco asked, careful to use small words. His smile was almost heartbreaking in its sweetness. No one could see it and imagine that he considered Goyle anything less than a brother.

"Yes," Goyle grunted.

"And you're loyal to the Dark Lord, right?" Draco asked.

Goyle was slightly upset that Draco even had to ask. "Yes! Did somebody tell you I wasn't?"

"Of course not," Draco said smoothly. "I told the Dark Lord that you were loyal. His most loyal servant is what I called you."

"Really?" 

"It's true, isn't it, Blaise?"

"Absolutely," Blaise confirmed, and a small smile tinged his features too.

Goyle seized on this opportunity; Draco would be impressed with his inside knowledge, would even recommend him to the Dark Lord. The thought of an audience with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was enough to send Goyle's heart racing; he hadn't been face to face with the Dark Lord since his initiation day. He'd planned on going to Lucius with the news, but Draco was much better; his rank within the Death Eater hierarchy second only to the Dark Lord himself. "Draco," Goyle said, "Agent Jezebel is here, in the house!"

Draco's eyes widened. "Really?"

"And she's not just Agent Jezebel. She's really Ginny Weasley! The Pendragon our lord has been searching for! I was the only one in the room who recognized her."

Draco clapped Goyle on the back and grinned. "This is excellent news! Who else have you told?"

"No one, just you." He was sure to get a reward out of this.

Blaise let out a little sigh of relief, but Draco didn't betray at all what he was thinking. "Greg, you've done very well, telling me this. I promise I'll get on it right away."

"And you…you'll recommend me to him? You'll tell him that I was the one who recognized her?"

"Absolutely," Draco said, oozing smooth reassurance. "I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to reward you personally."

Goyle's eyes widened. It was beyond his wildest dreams. "Really?"

"I'm sure of it," Draco said. "But before then, I have a job that needs to be done. It's very important; I couldn't ask just anyone." He looked into Goyle's eyes and said, all earnest seriousness, "Would you do this for the Dark Lord? I need someone I can trust."

Goyle nodded fervently. "You can trust me. I serve the Dark Lord."

"Excellent. I'll make sure to mention that you're charged with this task. He'll be very pleased to hear _you're_ the one I asked."

Goyle swelled with pride. "What do I have to do?"

Draco picked up a roll of parchment from his desk. "Here. This has everything you'll need to know." The instructions would send Goyle on a wild goose chase across half of Europe. "And, of course, I don't need to mention that this requires absolute secrecy."

"What?" Goyle asked.

"Don't tell anyone, Greg. That's very important."

"No!" Goyle agreed. "I'd never!"

Draco smiled again, that heartbreakingly sincere smile. "I know you'd never. You're a good, loyal servant, Greg."

"Thank you," Goyle said. "Thank you so much for letting me do this for him."

"What are friends for?" Draco said. "I'll see you soon."

He embraced Goyle, and escorted him from the room. The moment the door closed, the smile dropped from Draco's face. He turned to Eliot. "Kill him."

Eliot nodded. "I understand."

"The second he sets foot on the continent. He _can not_ come back here alive. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

When Eliot, too, had left, Draco turned to Blaise, who grinned. "That was inspired. Well done."

Draco smiled back. "Do you smoke?"

Blaise was surprised at the question. "Um, no. Why?"

"Do you know anyone who does?"

He thought for a moment. "Nome, I think. Yeah, I'm pretty sure he bummed a fag off someone last time we were at the pub."

Draco asked, "Could you find him for me, and ask if I can have a packet of cigarettes? And a lighter too, if he has a spare. Otherwise, I'll make do."

Blaise frowned. "You're not thinking of taking it up, are you? Because, you know, it's really bad for you. Your lungs get all black and your clothes smell –"

"Yes, thank you," Draco interrupted with a grin. "Your concern is noted. It's not for me, prat, it's for my guest."

"Your…_oh_, right. Her."

Now Draco laughed outright. "Yes, _her_. Who the hell did you think I was talking about?"

"Nothing. Never mind. I'll be right back, then." Blaise scooted around his friend and, with one last, triumphant grin over his shoulder, disappeared into the hall. Things were _finally_ looking up for them. Draco was going into the lion's den. It was all on his shoulders now; there was nothing for Blaise and the rest of the faction to do but sit back and celebrate their imminent victory. 

*****

The owl soared across the black sky. The faint dusting of stars did little to illuminate the darkness. The only substantial light came from the windows of the mansion, spilling out in gold bars across the ground. The owl avoided these pools of light; it sped into the woods, artfully dodging the trunks of the trees. On the ground, a red tailed wolf watched the bird fly overhead, and turned to follow it into the small forest. Two red-haired young women stepped into the clearing.

Dana shivered. "It's freezing out here. Can't we find someplace _inside_ to meet?"

Delia made a face at her twin. "You can't be seen with me any more than I can be seen with you. This is the best place, really. Nobody ever comes out here, especially at this time of night."

"No? Because I can just see Lucius Malfoy deciding that a midnight stroll around his woods would be a wonderful way to digest the gourmet dinner he's just finished eating…"

Delia laughed. "It really is just the sort of thing he'd do, if for no other reason than because we're hoping he won't. Don't worry about it, Day. We're safe for now."

The sisters embraced then. Their hug was warm, despite the cold night. Dana held Delia out at arm's length. "You look good."

Delia frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? I look exactly like you."

"No, I mean, you look…you know…_good_. Who is he?"

Of Draco, Delia was positive her sister wouldn't approve. "That's none of your business."

Dana was too used to her twin's sharp tongue to be hurt. She shrugged. "If you say so. Not even a little clue?"

"He's a lot more interesting than that surrogate Weasley you go around with," Delia said. _That_ would get her sister off the topic.

She was exactly right. Dana changed the subject immediately. "I have to talk to you about the sacrifices Voldemort is performing."

Delia shook her head emphatically. "Absolutely not. This is off-limits."

"It's not about—"

"Day, we have a _deal_."

"I know! Just listen for a second. Have you ever been to one of these things?"

"No," Delia answered honestly. She wasn't ranked highly enough within the Death Eater organization to merit going to a sacrifice, and she was very glad of that fact. Draco wanted the Dark Lord to think that Delia was an average witch, with nothing in the way of special abilities. It kept her Old Magic under wraps.

"My team did cleanup for the one that happened last night—"

Delia clapped her hand over her twin's mouth. "Off limits, Day. I can't hear this."

Dana grasped Delia's wrist and pulled her face free. "This isn't about Voldemort or…it's not about _that_! It's about you and me, so let me talk!"

Delia crossed her arms across her chest and waited, an irritated look on her face. Dana knew that if she brought up Aurors and Death Eaters one more time, her sister would leave.

"Listen. When I was there, I used some of my Old Magic."

"Why?" Delia asked sharply. "Did anyone see you?"

"It doesn't matter why," Dana snapped. "The thing is, I did. And no, nobody saw me. Have you done magic at all today, Dee?"

Surprised by the apparent change in subject, Delia had to think for a minute. "Except for the anamaga transformation, no, I haven't. The elves take care of everything, usually. There's no need, as long as I don't leave the house."

"Well, I have," Dana said, thinking of her memory charm and of the visions in the woods, "and there's something weird going on."

This got Delia's attention. "Weird how?"

Dana glanced around, then picked a stick up from the ground and moved it to about ten feet away. "Do a summoning charm."

"On the stick?"

Dana nodded.

Delia pulled out her wand, aimed, and said, "_Accio_."

The stick rose up into the air, and then hurled itself at Delia with lethal force. She threw herself to the ground and the branch whizzed over her head. Its velocity kept it flying in the opposite direction. The purpose of a summoning charm, however, is to bring an object to the person who cast the spell. The stick slowed down in mid-air, came to a halt, then reversed direction, guided missile-style. It hurled itself at Delia again. She rolled out of the way, and it struck the ground near her head, sending up a spray of snow and dirt. It ricocheted off into the air, then reversed course a second time, flying straight for her head. "Day, make it stop!" she screamed.

Dana took careful aim with her wand. "_Finite Incantatum_."

The stick stopped inches from Delia's eye, then dropped harmlessly onto her face and bounced to the ground. She jumped to her feet, ignoring the snow and dirt that clung to her robes. "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," Dana said. "I was hoping you might."

"_No_," Delia snapped. "I don't. And you'd better start talking." She looked as furious as Dana had ever seen her.

"I think it has something to do with the sacrifice. Voldemort is mucking around with the Otherworld, isn't he." It wasn't a question. Delia opened her mouth to protest this line of conversation, but before she could speak, Dana said, "Give it a rest, Dee. We both know that he's sacrificing to some deity or other. It's not sharing information if we both know it."

Her twin had a point, so Delia nodded. "He's sacrificing to a goddess."

Dana said, "And was the sacrifice last night different from the rest? You don't have to tell me specifics; just yes or no."

"Yes."

Dana nodded, satisfied with that answer. "I think it's affected our power somehow. Our magic comes out stronger than it should."

"That doesn't make any sense," Delia said. "Why would you think there's a connection?"

"Well, goddesses are from the Otherworld, and so is our magic," Dana began.

"You wouldn't have lasted five minutes in Ravenclaw," Delia told her twin, "if this is an example of your logical reasoning skills."

"Just listen to me," Dana snapped. "At the sacrifice site, I used some of my magic and it made me…see things."

"What kinds of things?"

Dana described the visions to her sister, and finished with, "Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and Ginny. Why them? What do they have to do with us? And if the women with red hair weren't goddesses, I'll…."

"Become a Death Eater?" Delia asked wryly.

"I was going to say, eat my wand."

"Oh."

"Focus, Dee. What's going on?"

Delia couldn't very well tell her twin about the Pendragon and her protectors. It would be the height of treachery, of disloyalty to Draco and his plans. She didn't have to fake her concerned look, though. "This is serious."

"It is."

"I don't know what they could have to do with us," Delia said. She really didn't. Sure, she'd sworn loyalty to Draco, but she hadn't said more than two words to Harry Potter or Ginny Weasley in her entire life. Dana was friends with Ginny, after a fashion, but she hated Draco and didn't think much of Harry one way or the other, as far as Delia knew. It really was very strange. "Maybe, Day, they're just premonitions of the future. Maybe you had a psychic moment, and it has nothing to do with the two of us. Were you on anything? Divining weed?"

"Of course not!" Dana had tried divining weed once, at a party, but hated it and vowed to never touch the stuff again. It made her giggly, which was completely humiliating. It had explained a lot about Professor Trelawney, though.

"Well, some people can have premonitions without it. Maybe you're one of them."

"I never have before. I'm almost twenty, Dee. It doesn't start up this late in life. The goddess, the Old Magic, the visions…they all came together this afternoon at the sacrifice site." Dana didn't give voice to her most private fear, that their power was dark, and as destructive as the goddess in her vision.

"I'll see if I can find anything in the Malfoys' library," Delia offered.

Dana knew her twin was holding back, but also realized that if there was something Dee wasn't telling, then it was because she _couldn't_. They were divided by a gulf that prohibited any open sharing of information. "And we'll meet again soon, all right?" Dana asked.

"Of course," Delia said. "I'll owl you just as soon as I can get away. Don't contact me."

Dana had been through the drill often enough to know how it went. Delia could sneak away occasionally to owl her sister, but if she ever received a letter, the sisters risked exposing their regular meetings. It could very well lead to Delia's death, should the wrong person discover that she corresponded with an Auror.

"Be careful, Dee."

"You too, Day."

The sisters embraced once more, then an owl flew back to the house and a wolf ran the opposite way, off the Malfoy grounds. Once she cleared the trees, Dana disapparated.

*****

Draco pushed through the wall, trailed by five terrified house elves. The elves balanced trays atop their heads, heavy with food and dining implements. Ginny leaned against the wardrobe and watched. Already, she'd perfected the art of schooling her face into Draco's mask of disinterest. She'd always been good at hiding her thoughts, but he was a master and now, thanks to the link, she was too.

The elves laid out a full dinner service, complete with multiple courses, china, silver candlesticks stamped with the Malfoy family crest, and four different forks. Neither human spoke until the little servants had bowed themselves out of the room.

Draco said, "I ordered the elves to bring you something clean to wear." His prisoner had obviously showered, as her hair was still damp. She still wore her tattered shirt and jeans, though, covered in dungeon slime.

Ginny didn't reply.

"Did the elves disobey?" Draco asked. "Why are you still in those clothes? Where are the ones they brought you?"

Ginny inclined her head towards the bed, where a set of white robes hung over the footboard. With an impatient sigh, Draco walked over, snatched them up, and held them out to her. She didn't take them.

"You can't wear _that_," he said. "It's rank. I can't eat with you if you smell that way."

"Maybe you should leave then, and let me eat alone," Ginny said.

"Put this on," he ordered.

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "_Look_ at it, Malfoy!"

Draco looked. "What's the matter with – _oh_." He held the robes up. They were completely transparent; he could see straight through them to where she stood, her arms crossed over her chest, disgust on her face. "Why would they give you something so…"

"Because they think I'm your whore." Her voice dripped with scathing contempt.

Draco couldn't hold back a quick grin. "Better mine than Marcus Flint's." She obviously didn't appreciate the joke. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, you can't wear that either." He motioned to her current ensemble. "Here. Take this." He shrugged out of the green robes he wore over his shirt and trousers and tossed them to her.

Ginny tossed them back. "I'm not wearing anything of yours."

"Stop whining and _do_ it," he ordered, throwing the robes a second time. "They're opaque, at least, and clean, and they'll do until tomorrow when I can get something better." He tossed the white garment back over the footboard and, crossing his arms, fixed her with a stern glare. "You don't want to wear the dirty clothes. I can tell. You might as well wear mine."

Dammit, he was right. She turned on her heel, cheeks burning, and slammed the door to the bathroom behind her. Ginny quickly peeled off her own, grimy outfit and then pulled his robe over her head. It was a heavy, expensive fabric and way too long for her. As she rolled the sleeves into thick cuffs, a rich, masculine smell rose from the robe. She recognized it right away: it was Gwen's latest concoction, a high-end cologne. Harry wore the same scent. Tears burned her eyes at this immediate sensory reminder of Harry – he was frantic with worry for her, she knew – but she splashed some cold water on her face, took a deep breath, and went back into the room. She was a Gryffindor, after all. She couldn't hide in the bloody loo all night.

Draco pulled a chair out for her, and she dropped into it. When he placed a bowl of soup in front of her, Ginny chose the correct spoon. He knew which silverware to use, which meant that she did too.

They finished their dish in silence. Ginny was ravenously hungry, but she forced herself to eat slowly, her motions controlled. The salad course was equally quiet. When Ginny finished the elaborate concoction of greens and vegetables (except for the radishes; she'd never liked radishes), Draco set a dinner plate in front of her and removed the domed silver warmer. Some mad part of Ginny remembered the last time she'd been served dinner this way: Mike and his frankfurter picnic. Her throat felt tight, and she fought not to cry. Who knew if she'd ever see Mike again? Or Harry? Or her family? Who knew what Malfoy was going to do with her, or how long he was going to keep her here? It was then that she broke their silence. "No."

Draco paused, warmer still in hand. "No what?"

She motioned to her plate, and the thick steak atop it. "I don't eat red meat. I can't have this." The heavy beef would slow her mind and body; she needed to stay alert.

Draco lifted his own warmer. "I have salmon. Here." He switched their plates and dug in. It was close on two in the morning, and his birthday party had been almost seven hours ago. He hadn't eaten much at the time, but now he was starving. It didn't occur to him that what he was feeling was actually Ginny's hunger. The link was still too new for him to distinguish whether feelings and urges were his or hers.

She knew he was waiting for her to speak again. If she were the one to open the door, his job would be just that much easier. Still, her curiosity wouldn't let her remain silent. "Why didn't you give me the potion?"

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, then lowered it to the plate. "I'm supposed to protect you, not hurt you."

"We hadn't linked yet. You could've done anything you wanted. You've had a price on my head for _years_, Malfoy, and now, when you finally have me –"

"Not _your_ head," he corrected. "Jezebel's."

"I _am_ Jezebel."

His eyes gleamed with a light she didn't want to read. "No you're not. You're Ginny Weasley."

"But I'm also –"

"You quit the Auror Division," he interrupted smoothly. "Maybe you were Jezebel at one time, but you're not anymore, are you? Now you're nobody. Just Ginny Weasley, youngest child of parents with no money or connections. As of last night, of course, you're also the bedmate of the Wizarding World's biggest celebrity, which should give you some status in certain circles. Not the ones of which your mother would approve, but I suppose you'll have to take what you can get –"

"_Shut up_!" she shouted, and Draco sat back in his chair, gazing, satisfied, at her flushed cheeks and furious eyes. He'd snapped her out of that cold, silent act. Task one accomplished. Task two: discredit Potter.

He leaned forward and murmured, "My apologies."

"How _dare_ you," she seethed. "How _dare_ you talk about Harry? He's everything you aren't: good, brave, kind…he's one of the most powerful wizards in England –"

Draco smirked. "I'm not in the least surprised. He does, after all, carry pieces of two of the most powerful wizards in England inside of him."

Ginny paused. Malfoy was trying to trap her. She had to go very carefully. "_Two_ of the most powerful?"

"You," he said, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his, "and Tom Riddle."

She froze, too stunned and horrified to even pull out of his grasp. "What are you talking about? Harry's not –"

"He's a Parselmouth," Draco cut in. "That's _proof_ that the Dark Lord left more than just a scar. For gods' sake, they even _look_ alike. I've seen pictures and you; you've seen the real thing. It's kind of sick, Gin, if you want my opinion. You, I mean, and Potter…considering what you went through…"

Ginny's stomach contracted, and she thought she might throw up all over the white linen tablecloth. Harry…and Tom…goddess, why hadn't she seen it before? It was Malfoy, trying to poison her. That was all. Just Malfoy spreading hate. It was what his kind did best. "Harry and Tom are nothing alike," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Harry would never…he's always been on the side of good."

"He's always been on the side of Dumbledore, you mean," Draco corrected. "And I think we both know how good that is. The balance has been thrown off, Ginny, and Potter could've prevented it, but he didn't. He had the chance years ago, and he refused. He put the Headmaster ahead of the goddess."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," Draco insisted, squeezing her hand. "Our seventh year at Hogwarts, Potter discovered that I was your protector. He told me to stay away from you, and vowed that he'd never tell you who I am. He's known for half a decade, and never breathed so much as a word to you. If he'd said anything, you could've done the goddess's will, completed the mental link with me, and prevented last night's mess all together. It's _his fault_ that this happened, Ginny. His fault."

Ginny shook her head. "He didn't know. He would've told me –"

"He didn't trust you enough to let you make this decision. He chose for you, and it was the wrong choice. He knew he wouldn't be able to control you directly, so he did it indirectly by withholding information –"

"No!" Ginny felt dizzy. Her mind was screaming against Draco's words. "He wants me to have control of my life. He turned in my resignation…"

"Did he ask you first?"

"No," she whispered.

"Well, then –"

"He said it was my choice…"

"But was it?" Draco asked softly.

Ginny looked into his gray eyes for a long, terrible moment. "It _would've _been."

"But _was_ it?"

Silence.

She shook her head.

Draco said, "You and I have to right the mess that Potter created. The Dark Lord –"

Ginny interrupted, "It's just as much your fault. You could've come to me –"

"I've had a Dark Mark since I was sixteen. If Voldemort learned that I was off meeting with an Auror, he'd have killed me without a second thought. Potter didn't trust your judgement enough to let you make your own decision regarding me. He completely ignored the will of the Mórrígan –"

"As if _you've_ ever done anyone's will but your own," Ginny snarled. In that moment, she hated herself for letting Malfoy make her doubt Harry. She hated Malfoy even more, for spreading his poison into her relationship.

Draco smiled. "Fortunately, the Mórrígan's will and mine seem to be running along the same track."

"And that would be?"

"The overthrow of Voldemort."

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "A Malfoy, wanting to overthrow Voldemort? You're his second in command."

"And I've worked very hard to get where I am," Draco acknowledged. "But on the day I found out about my destiny –"

"What destiny is that?" she interrupted.

He seemed surprised. "To be your protector." His eyes gazed into hers, but Ginny knew he wasn't seeing her; he was looking into the past. "Gods, I was angry." His mouth twisted into a half-smile as he remembered the rage that had gripped him that day. "I was the last to know, it seemed. I've never been so furious as I was that they kept me in the dark about this. Everyone else had known almost since I was born."

Ginny observed, "It's probably why your father named you Draco."

His eyes refocused on hers and he tipped his chair back, balancing on its back legs. "My father is a forward-thinking man."

"Your father is a psychopath."

Draco laughed at that. "You'll get no argument from me. As I was saying, that day the Dark Lord gave me a choice. I could serve him faithfully and, when the time came, turn the Pendragon over to him, or I could die a very painful death."

The fine hairs on the back of Ginny's neck stood up. He was sitting across from her, looking perfectly healthy, so obviously he hadn't picked option two. Was Voldemort going to come bursting in any moment, her family in tow? Was her protector going to hand her over? Was his loyalty to the Dark Lord strong enough to cancel out their link? "Since you're still here, I take it you picked option number one."

He arched an eyebrow. "You don't know me very well yet, Ginny, but you'll soon learn that there's nothing I hate more than being backed into a corner. I was given two choices, but neither one was particularly appealing, wouldn't you agree?"

"So what did you do?"

"I chose option number three."

"Voldemort didn't give you a third option."

"No," Draco confirmed. His eyes shone with a fierce pride in his own intellect and cunning. "He didn't. I made it up myself."

"And that would be?"

He leaned forward, resting all four chair legs safely on the floor. His face was inches from hers. "A coup. I recruited enough people to form a sizeable faction within the existing Death Eater hierarchy, and used my influence with the Dark Lord to advance them as far as possible. When the time comes –"

"You're telling me you're strong enough to fight him? _Seriously_?" Ginny was astounded.

Draco reached out a finger and trailed it along the side of her face. She shuddered with abhorrence. "Not quite," he said softly, the words sliding through the air. "That, my dear, is where you come in."

Ginny jerked back so fast, she nearly upset her chair. "_I_ come in? I don't think so."

"This is how it works. You help me topple Voldemort, and I'll help you restore the balance. I win and the Mórrígan wins, which means that you win too."

"I'm not helping you do shit," Ginny snarled. "Why should I? It'll just be trading one Dark Lord for another. What's the difference?"

His laughter was cruel. "You're smarter than that. Think. I'm willing to work with you towards the overthrow of the Dark Lord –"

"That's what Harry wants too," she interrupted. Her eyes were wide and desperate. Draco had a sudden flash of inspiration.

"And you, Ginny? What do _you_ want?"

No one had ever asked her that before. Ginny felt tears burn the backs of her eyes at the terrible unfairness of it all: that Draco Malfoy would be the only one concerned with what she wanted, even if it _was_ just to further his own ends. "I don't know what I want."

He finally released his hold on her hand and smiled at her. She'd made a serious tactical error; she just wasn't sure what it had been. "Perhaps," he drawled, "I can help you make up your mind." Draco gestured to the table of food. "I'm full. Have you had enough?"

Ginny nodded. This conversation was nauseating. She couldn't even think about food, although she'd been starving just a little while ago, and had eaten nowhere near her fill. Draco waved his wand and transported the dishes to the kitchens.

"Now what?" she asked.

He tipped the chair back again and propped his feet up on the table. "Now, my dear, we negotiate."

"I'm not your dear."

He laughed. "Is there something you'd rather I call you?"

"Weasley will be fine."

"You're so hard-boiled. I wonder if it's an act, or if this is really what being an Auror does to people. Listen; you're here until I say otherwise, so it's in your best interest to reach an agreement. I'm a reasonable man. I'm always open to compromise."

"I don't negotiate with Death Eaters."

His voice lost its jovial tone. "There's a first time for everything."

They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to blink or look away. Finally, Ginny said, "Fine. How does this work?"

"How does what work?" Draco asked with a small frown. "Negotiation, you mean? Well, I make an offer. You make a counter-offer. We try to find some middle ground, and then reach an agreement that'll make us both happy. Didn't they teach you this stuff in Gryffindor?" At her blank look, he sighed. "It must've just been in Slytherin then." There was an art to satisfactory negotiation, and his opponent was at a disadvantage. Just the way he liked it. "I want you to use your powers to help my cause. I want to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place."

Ginny said, "I want you to let me go."

"See?" Draco asked. "Now we're getting somewhere. This is the deal, then. If you agree to lend your powers to my cause, I'll let you go."

"No."

"I'll let you go, and I'll help you right the balance," he amended.

"No."

He took a moment to size her up. "All right then. Why don't you tell me your terms?"

"I don't have any. I want you to let me out of this room. I'm not going to give you anything in return; you're just going to do it."

Draco sighed. "This is where, in true Gryffindorian fashion, you're being pigheaded and completely missing the point. I have the upper hand. You're _my_ prisoner, and you'll remain so until you agree to help my faction."

"You can't just keep me here," Ginny protested. "You're my protector. You're supposed to –"

"Keep you safe," he said. "You're perfectly safe here. I'm not breaking any kind of contract. I'm not obligated to help you with anything unless you help me."

The adversaries fell silent, sizing each other up from across the table. Ginny fidgeted with a loose thread on the sleeve of the robe and glowered at him. "I can't make any kind of deal with you," she finally said. There was no way she'd ever submit to contractual magic with a Malfoy. It was out of the question.

"You say that now," he smirked, "but I wonder how you'll feel in a month or two?"

"A _month_?"

He shrugged. "I want to help you help the goddess, believe me. I'm on your side."

"My _side_?" she snapped, furious. "Were you on my side before, when you came in here to _rape_ me?"

"Not you," he corrected. "Jezebel. It's completely different."

"The hell it is." Ginny was fuming again, her hands clenched in fists. "And earlier tonight, when I was under the Cruciatus curse for _four hours_…" Her throat closed up and she blinked back tears. She still hurt all over, and would probably be in pain for a good week. It had been torment like she'd never dreamed possible.

"I didn't know about that," Draco said. "If I had, believe me, I would've put a stop to it."

"No you wouldn't have," she snapped, to cover the tears that choked her voice. "You would've joined in. Agent Jezebel, the best birthday present you've ever received."

He shook his head. "But you're not Jezebel. How many different ways can I say it? There's nothing that you have to be afraid of. You're in this house under my protection, and as soon as I leave this room, I'm going to give orders that no one lay so much as a hand on you."

"They'll think it's because I'm your whore."

Draco was irritated now. "So what if that's what they think, as long as it keeps you safe while you're making your choice."

"I've made my choice. It's not my problem if you can't accept it."

"It is very much your problem. You have to face reality, Ginny," Draco snapped. "The fact is, here you are and here you'll stay. I can hold out just as long as you can, and you'll agree to join me sooner or later. You might as well make it easy on yourself and say sooner. You need me just as much as I need you."

Once again, they lapsed into silence. Draco didn't speak; he gave her quiet to sort out her thoughts. When she raised her eyes again, he saw anger, frustration, and not a little bit of sadness. Her words, though, surprised him. "Tell me about Shannon."

He paused, taken aback. "Why?"

"Because she was my friend, and now she's dead. There was obviously a lot I didn't know about her, and I want to find out."

"She's gone, Ginny. It's not going to do you any good to hear about her life."

She took a deep, shuddery breath, and said, "Please, Draco. I need to know."

He wasn't sure if it was the fact that she said please or that she used his given name that convinced him to talk. He still felt Shannon's loss keenly. She'd been a good friend. Still, Ginny had been Shannon's friend too. Perhaps she had a right to know. "What do you want to hear? She was a pureblood supremacist. She wanted to preserve the rights and privileges of our class, a class to which you show no loyalty at all, by the way. I offered her the opportunity to do just that, while working against the Dark Lord –"

"She was a member of your faction?" Ginny interrupted. She felt overwhelming relief at the suggestion that her friend hadn't been loyal to Voldemort.

"Of course she was," Draco replied. "She gave her life to bring you right where you are now."

"I don't understand."

"Think about it. At the Beltaine Ball, she was the slowest runner in the world, holding you back so we could catch up. Last week, she was the only Death Eater who kept up with your sprint through the alleys."

"Are you saying she was _pretending_ to be slow on Beltaine?"

He rolled his eyes. "_Yes_, that's what I'm saying. The whole thing was a ruse. She knew exactly what was waiting for you outside the ring of bonfires. You never suspected a thing. And now she's dead, and you're here anyway. It was all for nothing."

Ginny was dumbfounded. Her friend had been trying to kidnap her, to deliver her up to Malfoy and his faction…it didn't bear thinking about. She burned with impotent fury. There was no one to spend it on; Shannon was gone. "I need a drink."

"Yes," Draco agreed, "I believe you do."

He took two tumblers and a bottle of firewhiskey from the sideboard and poured one for each of them. "I don't suppose you have a fag?" Ginny asked, tossing back the liquor and refilling her glass.

"As a matter of fact," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Nome's cigarettes. Ginny took one from the package and held it between her lips. Draco clicked the lighter, and she leaned forward into the flame.

She sat back and fixed him with an inscrutable look. He asked, "Potter doesn't know you smoke, does he?"

She shook her head.

"He wouldn't approve?"

She sighed. "He wouldn't care one way or the other, probably. He knows _everything_ about me, though. Can you even imagine…well, you'll be able to soon enough, I suppose. I had to keep this one thing for myself."

"But now I know." His voice was silky smooth. She wanted to hit him. Draco purred, "I'm in the habit of indulging vices, you know. You only have to say the word. Anytime. Day or night."

She blew a stream of smoke into his face.

He gave a frustrated sigh. "Could you not be childish for just one second? Take a look around you. You're not getting out of here. I need you to trust me –"

"Right," she spat. "Trust _you_? When have you ever been trustworthy?"

"I think, between your two protectors, I'm the lesser of two evils," Draco replied. "I'd never take advantage of your trust the way Potter did."

"That's because you'll never _have_ my trust." Ginny was so angry she was shaking. Her empty whisky glass exploded in crystal shards. "I know exactly what you are, and the things you've done. Harry was wrong, and believe me, he'll hear about it the next time I see him, but you…" Her lip curled in disgust. "You're not even worth…I mean…_look_ at you. Look at what you are."

Draco scowled at her outburst. "Listen," he said, the angular planes of his face harsh in the candlelight. "I may function under a different set of morals than that enjoyed by the high and mighty Auror division. You might not like the way I do business, but at least I don't hide who I am. Can you look me in the face and say that you've never used an unforgivable curse on anyone? You can't. You and I aren't so different, Weasley. And, unlike Potter, I have never and will never misrepresent myself and my intentions to you. You'll always know exactly where we stand with each other. I might not be honest all the time, but with you…always. I vow it."

He stuck out his hand. She stared at it, then slowly reached across the table. They had a bargain. He wouldn't ever lie to her.

Draco filled his glass one last time, and slid it over to rest in front of her. "Think about everything I've said. I'll come back tomorrow night."

She looked around the room. "Can I have something to read? Or, you know, anything?"

"No."

"I'll go crazy in here."

"That's the idea," he said flatly, walking over to the hidden doorway. "If you're bored all day, then you'll be glad for my company at dinner. We might actually have a productive conversation." Before she could reply, he was gone.

Ginny downed the firewhisky and then slumped back in her chair and brooded. She had to get out of here, but how? She couldn't call Harry through the link. He'd charge in here, the entire Division behind him. Malfoy would probably wind up in Azkaban, which would infuriate Mórrígan beyond anything. Or, worse, Harry or Malfoy might be killed. She didn't even want to think about that. And Malfoy had mentioned that Delia was in the manor as well. Ginny put her head in her hands and groaned. Could the situation get any more complicated? She prayed that her plan would work, that enough of her would bleed into Malfoy to convince him to let her out. Other than that, there was nothing she could do. She just wanted to go home, to see Harry again, even though she was furious with him for not telling her about Malfoy. She didn't forgive him for that, but it didn't mean she couldn't miss him.

*****

Harry paced around Catherine's office. Ron and Dana sat in their boss's hard plastic chairs and watched him, concerned. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had looked everywhere for Ginny. She was nowhere to be found, but Harry had told them that hours ago. When they heard the news, Ginny's friends insisted on joining the search. Now, they milled about the hallway: Gwen, Esme, Mike and Ria, both frantic, Hermione, and Fred and George, who had been the only ones home at the Burrow. As the two other Aurors in their group, Dana and Ron had joined Harry in Catherine's office for moral support. The others waited outside for news on a search and rescue for their friend.

Harry told as much of the story as he could, omitting any Pendragon-related details, and Catherine listened, making occasional notes on her parchment. When he finished and looked at her expectantly, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Midas, but there's nothing I can do."

"There's _what_?" Harry demanded. Ron was too dumbfounded to speak, and Dana too angry to find her voice.

"She's not under the Division's protection anymore. She quit. You can file a missing person report with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, if you like. They'll mount a search."

Given the choice between the DMLE and the highly trained combat agents in the Auror Division…well, that wasn't even a choice. "But," Harry protested, "she's Agent Jezebel!"

"Not anymore," Catherine said. "If she were, the Division could handle her case. As it is, she's just a civilian. She's not one of us; she's been _obliviated_ –"

"No she hasn't," Harry cut in desperately. "_No_, she hasn't. She remembers everything. Every damned thing. Is she important enough, now, for you to rescue?"

"She _what_?" Catherine demanded. "Nimue, I _ordered_ you to –"

"I didn't get a chance to do the spell," Dana interrupted, catching Harry's drift. If she had to lie to get Catherine to help Ginny, then so be it. "She took her box and left before I could do it. I was going to tell you, but then you sent me to the field…."

"You're telling me her memory is _intact_?" Catherine was furious. "Nimue, when this whole mess is sorted out, you'll face _serious_ disciplinary action. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely," Dana said. It was worth it.

"So you'll help my sister?" Ron asked. "Please. The Division is equipped to handle things like this. The DMLE –"

"It would seem I don't have a choice," Catherine said. "If the Death Eaters _have_ gotten hold of her, the information in her head could crumble everything we've worked for. Code names, safe houses, moles, experimental spells…she knows it all."

"What's our first step?" Harry asked.

"Do you know where she is?" Catherine asked.

Harry nodded. "There's only one place she could be, isn't there? Malfoy Manor."

At those words, Dana's head jerked up. "_Where_?"

"Malfoy Manor," Harry repeated. "In two hours, we can have a team of hit wizards ready to go."

"No!" Dana cried. All eyes in the room turned to her. She thought fast. Gods and goddesses, if they raided the Manor and anything happened to Delia…. "I mean, isn't there a designated waiting period when someone goes missing? And we don't even know if that's where she is. Lucius Malfoy is on the Grand Council. He's not someone we want to piss off. Our funding is shit as it is."

Harry was dumbfounded. "What are you saying? That we should just _leave_ her there?"

"No," Dana said, drawing on a bit of her power to make herself more convincing. "I'm just saying we'll want to think this through carefully. We can't just storm that house, considering who owns it."

Harry said, "But Ginny –"

"You're not exactly the most impartial thinker where Ginny is concerned," Dana pointed out. "And neither are you, Ron. Listen to me. We can't go bursting into Malfoy Manor. Not unless we have rock-solid proof that Ginny is there, and can guarantee minimal casualties."

"But –"

"She's right," Catherine said. "Much as I hate to admit it, she's right. There _is_ a two day waiting period before a person is officially declared missing. Midas, Hermes, Nimue, I'm putting you three in charge of a team. Use this time to find Ginny. In forty eight hours, I want to know exactly where she is and how we're going to get her back."

Harry opened his mouth to protest once more, but saw that it was useless. His blinding panic had subsided hours ago; wherever Ginny might be, she was out of danger for now. She was safe, in the care of someone who would protect her. She'd linked with Draco; he'd known it for hours. Harry thought he might be sick at leaving her with that monster for two whole days, but he needed to be strong just now, to get her out of that evil place and bring her back with him, where she belonged. He needed to find proof that Malfoy Manor was where she'd been taken. He nodded to Catherine, and he, Ron, and Dana left the office to reassure the worried people in the hallway.

Dana's mind raced a mile a minute. She had to see Delia, and make sure Ginny wasn't at the Manor. That was her first priority. She'd worry about the rest later.

*****

Lucius bowed himself into the Dark Lord's dungeon. "What news?" Voldemort asked impatiently.

Lucius informed his master of Jezebel's astonishing appearance, including the Germans' theory of a botched Auror raid, and where the Agent was now.

Voldemort asked, "Why are you telling me this? She's in Draco's capable hands. I don't need to bother myself with a mudblood loving –"

"Draco wants to keep her," Lucius said. "He just gathered everyone together and said that we aren't to so much as go near her without his permission."

"He must have found her satisfactory," Voldemort said wryly. "Still, we can't have an Auror running around this place, not now, your son's affections notwithstanding."

"He's given her a potion," Lucius said. "That makes all the difference. Revenge on an old enemy, you said. Well, now he has it, and it seems he'll be occupied for quite a while. This will give us the chance to search for the Pendragon while he's otherwise engaged."

Voldemort's red eyes gleamed. "An excellent observation, my slippery friend. All right. Let Draco keep his girl. No doubt an agent of her caliber will prove herself an adequate distraction."

*****

Macha spotted the young woman lounging on the grass by the pond. She lay on her back on a bed of springy moss, trailing her fingers across the smooth, wet glass of the water's surface. Macha didn't sit, but leaned over and looked into the pool, their window to the world of men. "You've thrown her into a den of snakes."

Mórrígan laughed and waved her hand dismissively. The scar, a thin line of silver, slashed across its back. "Virginia can take care of herself. She's closer now to Badb than we could ever get."

"Speaking of Badb –"

"Trust me," Mórrígan interrupted. "Virginia is ready. Our sister will not be brought in line in this world until she's fully cast out of that one."

"Your protégé's unwillingness to find her other protector is an irreversible blow to our fight," Macha said, dropping into the grass beside her commander and queen.

The young girl rolled her eyes. "She's a mortal. She has weaknesses and flaws. It's their nature. But she's also the Pendragon, which makes her more. Many things are irreversible. Nothing is irredeemable."

"Some things are," Macha said bitterly.

"Badb is our sister." Mórrígan's tone was stern. "She's a traitor, but she's still one of us. The triad's balance won't be restored until she comes back into the fold. You don't feel it the way I do."

"You think I can't feel this?" Macha asked. "Every single day…" She trailed off with a sigh. "Your champion, are you sure she can handle what's coming?"

"I trained her myself," Mórrígan replied. "She's ready for everything that comes."

"That's exactly my point," Macha said. "We're putting too much trust in a _mortal_. Too much depends on her –"

"I don't coddle her as you do," Mórrígan interrupted. "She's the Great Dragon. She's not delicate, and I've never treated her as such."

"You coddle her in your own way," Macha said with a small smile. "Don't think I don't notice when you sit by this pool hour after hour, watching her go about her boring little mortal life."

Mórrígan yawned. "Little and mortal it may be, but the girl's life is anything but boring. Have you seen her young man?" She smirked lasciviously.

Macha scowled. "You're too carefree when you're young."

Mórrígan ran her scarred hand through her long, garnet hair. "How fortunate, then, that I don't choose my face to please you."

The two goddesses were quiet for a while, both gazing into the pool, where they watched Ginny slowly work her way through a bottle of amber liquid. Finally, Macha spoke. "You told her she couldn't let herself be controlled, not even by you. But then you sent her to this place as punishment for disobedience."

Mórrígan arched one perfect eyebrow. "Where is it written that I have to be fair?" Macha frowned, and Mórrígan rolled onto her stomach, kicking her bare feet up into the air. "There's a difference between obedience and control, destiny and fate. Virginia is the Pendragon, but she still has something to learn about the nature of the divine. Even goddesses are subject to the decrees of the Universe. We all must obey the same force. It's our greatest secret, Macha; we're not that different from the mortals after all. That's destiny. Virginia's life will not be decreed by me. But," her face hardened, and Macha detected the warrior mother inside the sensual girl, "I have a reason, a _good_ reason, for every command I've ever given her. If she disobeys, it's at her peril, as she learned tonight. It won't always be so. When she has more experience, she'll be able to use her own judgment, but until then, her fate is in my hands."

"Her fate?" Macha asked.

"Yes," Mórrígan confirmed, "for now. But not her destiny. That was never mine to begin with. It belongs to the Universe."

Macha nodded thoughtfully. The goddesses lounged in the grass until long after the sun had set. Their eyes never wavered from the Pendragon, their hope. In the world of mortals, Ginny finally put the bottle away. She considered the bed, then turned her back on it and began to pace.

*****

Eliot slipped into a doorway as Goyle apparated into the alley. He'd spent the better part of an hour thinking about Draco's orders, and then about Draco himself. So little had gone right for them in the past few years. If the Dark Lord ever discovered Draco's faction, they'd all find themselves swinging from yew trees. A true Slytherin, Eliot decided to keep a bit of insurance. If Draco was going down, there was no way he'd drag Eliot down with him. There would be plenty of time to kill Goyle later, once Eliot had a chance to judge which way the wind was blowing, and whether or not Ginny was likely to commit herself to the faction. If she was stubborn, then Eliot would prove himself the only truly loyal Death Eater in their group, the savior of Gregory Goyle, holder of precious information. If she pledged her power to their cause, he could always track Goyle down before Goyle returned to the Manor. With that thought in mind, Eliot disapparated.

*****

A/N part two: That's all for now, folks. Stay tuned for G5, "Nimue," wherein emotions are running high. Dana makes a few enemies, someone goes to the hospital, Harry and Mike (finally) throw down, Ginny hatches an escape plan, Delia makes a difficult choice, and Draco does something completely out of character, then gets really, really angry. Plus, there are snogs. Lots of snogs. (God, I love that word. It's so much fun to say.) It'll be one of the most exciting chapters yet. Just so you know, the members of the HP Pendragon yahoo group (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon) get to read new installments several days before they go live on the fan fiction websites. Plus, the members are a great group of people. I'd love to see you there.

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. You all are my heroes.

H. Sanders; ethereal_corpse; AiraSRP; jen beckett [Thanks so much for the lovely review. I'm so happy you enjoyed my story, even if you aren't an H/G-er]; Hummie [Your reviews made my day]; Unregistered 1; me; Unregistered 2; Athena; andi sunrider; Aradia Ring; Silvermane; AmandaMancini [I ship several ships. H/G is one, D/G is another. I'm glad to hear you'll enjoy the story no matter how it turns out.]; the lovely Nicola Six; leprechaun babe; Christie; Calypso [I'm going to catch up on the Maurader Chronicles as soon as my exams are over. I'm saving it for an end of school treat.]; knightsky; GiNnY; Lana Potter; the incomparable FireSprite; Aurora de la Noche; bubblez fairy; EliCa; Chupacabra; Cloudzi; Sasery; auruarkal; Ducki; RadicalRavenclaw; lupe silverwing; dg fanatic; Stephanie; Saint; Michelle Ravel; Charles; Poppy P; tiggerlady; Madhuri [for the Christmas ficlet; I'm looking forward to hearing your feedback on the Pendragon stories, and I'm happy to play a part in your H/G therapy.]; and anyone I may have missed, or who reviewed by email or on the HP Pendragon yahoo group. Each and every one of you is appreciated.

Never underestimate the motivational power of a review. Feedback makes me a better writer, which translates to a better story for you to read.

Drop me a line anytime at irina@schnoogle.com. I love hearing from you, and I always write back.

The chapter has now ended.


	5. Nimue

**Title and Chapter:**Galatea Chapter five "Nimue" (5/?)

**Author Name:** Irina

**Author Email:** irina@schnoogle.com

**Category:** Action/Adventure

**Keywords:** destiny, adventure, Pendragon, mythology, post-Hogwarts

**Rating:** R for violence, adult situations, and language

**Spoilers:** All four books

**Summary:** _Galatea_ is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in _The Rebirth_, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry…and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess [Sequel to _The Rebirth_.]

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  All of my tarot information is from _Tarot Plain and Simple_ by Anthony Louis.  There's also a quote from the movie _Labyrinth_, and one from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

**Author's Note: **_Galatea_ is the sequel to my first fic, _The Rebirth_, and the second fic in what has been dubbed _The Mórrígna Trilogy_. Since _Galatea_ is a sequel, please do read _The Rebirth_ first to cut down on confusion. It's a great story; I promise.  Thanks to my beta readers, the wonderful Danette and DRI.  They're worth their weight in gold.  Another round of thanks to Cassandra Claire and Nome, both of whom helped me get through a terrible bout of writer's block.  (Writer's paralysis is more like it.)  FireSprite and sundrip get thanks for previewing certain scenes, and Danette gets co-author credit for this chapter, because she helped write a few of the scenes featuring Dana and Delia, so an extra thank you to her.  Thanks as well to my muses at the HP Pendragon yahoo group.  groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon is the place to be.  I'd love to see you there.

This chapter is dedicated to Athena, who wrote in her review for chapter four:  "There are so many D/G moments in this that I sometimes want snogs from them and lust, lots of lusty snogs."

**Chapter Five**

**Nimue******

_So by [Nimue's] subtle working she made Merlin to go under that_

stone to let her wit of the marvels there; but she wrought so

there for him that he came never out for all the craft he could

do.  And so she departed and left Merlin.

--Le Morte d'Arthur Book IV Chapter I

Delia strolled into the solarium, trying to keep her features schooled into a mask of nonchalance.  No one could know that she'd just had an illicit meeting with an Auror, not even when that Auror was her twin.  Family was family, and Dana was the most important person in the world to her, but she doubted her fellows would see things that way.

"Where have you been?" Andrea demanded when Delia entered the room.  Before Delia could think of a plausible lie, Andrea continued, "Never mind.  You've missed a lot."

"Have I?"

Andrea filled her in on the Pendragon's sudden appearance.  Delia stared.  "You're telling me she's here?  Right now?"  She wondered if Ginny and Draco had linked minds yet, but didn't ask.

"Draco took dinner in to her twenty minutes ago.  Do you want to see?" her fellow Death Eater asked.  "They have a spy mirror in the room.  We can check his progress."

"All right," Delia agreed, both because she didn't have anything better to do and because it would get her out of answering questions about her whereabouts that evening.  A trip to the Malfoy library to research possible causes of the change in her powers would have to wait.  The Pendragon was much more important.

*          *          *          *          *

"Look who's here," Pansy said.  The third-floor room was a small space, made all the more cramped by the large number of people jammed inside.  A free-standing oval mirror leaned against the wall.  Rather than showing reflections, it was a window to the fifth-floor room where Draco had installed Ginny Weasley, a direct connection to an identical mirror in her prison.  Delia suspected this room, like many in Malfoy Manor, had been set aside for less than wholesome reasons.  There were undoubtedly members of Voldemort's circle who enjoyed watching women being tortured and raped, though they might not have the stomach to do it themselves.  The thought made Delia shudder, and the room seemed closer than ever.

It was dark, the only light coming from the mirror.  The candle-glow from Ginny's prison spilled out of the gold frame and bathed their faces in its soft light.  There was a table, as well as several armchairs.  Some members of the faction were sitting on the floor.  All stared at the glass, transfixed, watching their leader at work.  "Take a seat," Pansy invited, rising from her chair.  "We wouldn't want you to miss any of this, would we?"

Delia couldn't quite figure out the cause of Pansy's tone; there was something jeering in its sticky sweetness.

"Shut it," Blaise said.  "Delia doesn't need to concern herself with this Auror whore.  What's your problem, Pansy?"

"My problem?" Pansy asked, feigning offense.  "I'm just offering my good friend Delia a front row seat to the show of the year."

Now Delia was extremely suspicious.

Grace said, "Come on.  She doesn't need to see all that."

"All what?" Delia asked.

"Nothing," three people said at once.

She stepped over a few of the people on the floor, but Neil stood and blocked her view.  "It's not important," he said, taking hold of her shoulders, preventing her from moving.  "Really, it's not."

"You all are in here, glued to this mirror like it's the best movie you've seen," Delia said with a nervous smile.  "What's going on?"

Pansy laughed.  "Movie?  Oh, of course.  You're _Muggle raised_, aren't you.  How charming, and it explains so much."

Delia frowned.  She didn't like to be reminded of her youth spent with the Muggles, especially here, in front of the entire faction.  "Neil, get out of my way.  What's going on that's so…"  She leaned around the Death Eater and trailed off at the image in the mirror.  Draco and Ginny Weasley sat across a table from each other.  He held her hand, and with his other, reached out and gently trailed a finger across her cheek, a wicked smile on his face.  And she…she was _wearing _his _robe_.  Just then, the door cracked open and a terrified-looking elf stuck his head in.

"Miss Delia?" the creature said.  "Master Draco said he'd been unavoidably detained."

"Unavoidably detained?" Delia asked sharply.  "What does that mean?"

"It means you shouldn't expect him before breakfast," Pansy said with a mean laugh.

Delia turned from the mirror to look at the little servant, who seemed very miserable indeed.  Her gaze played around the room, all the pitying eyes, Pansy's smug face.  Drawing a deep breath, Delia gathered as much dignity as she could muster, thanked the elf, and left without another word.  Before the door closed, she heard Pansy say, "Poor, Muggle-raised dear.  It must be such a _shock_.  I heard he requested the strongest lust potion in Snape's stores."

She'd go to his rooms and wait for him, even if it took all night.  The bastard had some explaining to do.

*          *          *          *          *

Delia leaned against one of the bedposts and watched Draco through narrowed eyes. His hair was slightly disheveled and it seemed he'd left his robe with Ginny. Or, rather, _on_ Ginny. Glancing at the clock, she noted that, while it was late, he had at least not spent the whole night with the Pendragon, which gave Delia some small comfort. Draco didn't seem to have noticed her, so she stood quietly and waited. She'd give him a chance to confess before she let him have it.

He walked straight to the table and took the stopper from the brandy. To Delia's surprise, he didn't even bother with a glass, but drank straight from the bottle. She knew the exact moment he noticed her. His shoulders tensed and he turned towards the bed, but when he saw who stood there, he relaxed again. Still, his words were anything but welcoming. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Delia straightened and walked over, taking the bottle from his grasp and pouring him a glass, which she pressed into his hand. "I had a message that you would be late, so I thought I'd save you the walk to my room," she answered, sounding much calmer than she felt. "You look tired. Rough night?"

He leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to her mouth. "_Wonderful_ night. You have no idea. Ginny Weasley is here, in the house. She fell right into my lap."

_I'll just bet she did_, thought Delia. "Really?" she said with a broad smile. "And how is the poor thing?" She watched him carefully, gauging his reaction.

Draco laughed. "She's one third furious and two thirds drunk. She'll come around, though, make no mistake."

"Oh, I have complete faith in your powers of persuasion," she told him. "You'll have her eating out of your hand soon." Delia leaned back against the table with a coy smile.

Finally, something pierced his alcohol and ego muddled brain. "Are you all right?" Draco asked with a slight frown. "You're acting strangely."

"Am I?" she asked, "I hadn't noticed." _Took you long enough,_ she thought. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

Draco looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "Enjoy myself? With that...that _Weasley_? What the hell do you take me for?"

"Come off it, Malfoy," Delia snapped. "I saw you through the mirror. You were holding her hand. She was wearing your fucking clothes!"

He rolled his eyes. "Jealousy isn't flattering on you, Delia. She was wearing my clothes because the ones the elves brought her were completely unsuitable. They were see-through, for gods' sake. I couldn't very well negotiate with someone who's practically naked."

"Really?" Delia challenged, "It didn't stop you the other night. As I recall, I wasn't wearing anything at all. And I'm not jealous, I'm angry. If you want to play with someone else that's fine but I won't be made a fool of. That elf was practically shouting it from the rooftops that you were spending the night with the Weasley bitch."

"You're doing a damn good impersonation of someone who's jealous," he sneered, "for a person who isn't, at all." Draco set his glass on the table and leaned in, his face a bare inch from hers. "What's this really about, Delia? Tell the truth."

She didn't even flinch at the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. "It's about the fact that everyone is convinced that you've thrown me over, quite publicly with the faction I might add, for _her_. Do you think I enjoyed their pity, Draco? Because I didn't." Her eyes flashed pure silver before settling back to a stormy gray.

Now he laughed, long and loud. "The next time you decide to take a fit of jealousy, darling, talk to me first. I never even touched Ginny, whatever the others might think. I'm not one to take Potter's leavings, thank you very much."

Delia bristled at his patronizing tone. "You might want to inform everyone else then. If you had heard Pansy, and her disgusting, patronizing –"

He arched an eyebrow. "And you care what Pansy thinks because?"

"Because I'm not a fool, Draco Malfoy, and I won't be thought of as one," she told him, "nor do I care to have it insinuated that you slept with me out of pity because I'm the 'poor Muggle-raised dear.' " The sarcasm rolled off her tongue. "I pull my own weight around here, which is more than can be said for some of them."

"Of course you do," he said, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. "No one is implying otherwise. If they are, send them to me and I'll straighten them out. Look, Delia, nothing happened between Ginny and me, I promise. She's Agent Jezebel, for goddess's sake.  She hates me. It's mutual. She's a...she's a _Weasley_."

Delia wouldn't be mollified that easily. "So what does it matter that she's Agent Jezebel? Or that's she's a Weasley? You don't request the strongest lust potion in the Manor if you don't plan on using it," she seethed.

"I didn't use it," Draco said, releasing her abruptly and taking a step back. He'd gone out of his way to reassure her and still she insisted on harping at him. Now, he was irritated. "If you don't believe me, there's the door."

"Fine," Delia spat. "If you need me in the next hour, I'll be packing." She turned to walk out.

Draco opened his mouth to call her back, ask her to stay, but then he thought, _What the hell am I doing_? A voice echoed in his head..._Caring about someone else, maybe_? It was Ginny. Bloody fucking hell.

Draco scowled and shouted, "Fine! Don't forget, though, you swore an oath. If you so much as set foot outside this house tonight, consider yourself forsworn and say goodbye to your birth parents." The slam of his door echoed in the room.

He stood, glass still in hand, feeling at a loss. Usually, lashing out at others made him feel better, or at least gave him some kind of satisfaction. Now, though, he felt strangely discontented.  He wanted to go after Delia, but pride kept him in place. He was just pouring himself another drink when Ginny's voice spoke once again in his head. Even telepathically, her words were slightly slurred. _You've really done it now, Malfoy_.

"What is this?" he yelled, slamming his glass down on the table and looking wildly around the room. "What the hell kind of magic is –"

Ginny laughed. _Consider it a perk. You don't have to speak out loud. I can hear you just fine._

_How much_? he asked, slightly horrified and more than a little embarrassed. He rarely lost control and raised his voice. He couldn't afford to do so in front of the Pendragon. Too much was at stake. 

_Oh,_ she replied lightly, _only every last word._

He didn't believe her. It was impossible. _Prove it, Weasley._

Ginny said, _One third furious and two-thirds drunk. She'll come around eventually, make no mistake. Except that I won't. There's no way in hell I'd ever go along with your plan. And do you want to know why?_

"You're drunk," he said, forgetting to speak silently. "You're completely pissed. We'll talk tomorrow, when you've sobered up. I'll have the elves bring you a potion."

_Screw your elves, screw your potions, and screw you_, she hissed. It was a decidedly unpleasant feeling. Draco could feel her anger, the fury and resentment and fear that burned inside of her, as closely as though it were a part of him. Maybe it was. _You're a sociopath, and I don't want to have anything to do with you, ever_. He wasn't a sociopath; she'd never met anyone with such a precise grip on sanity as Draco Malfoy. Goddess knew she didn't enjoy the same.

Draco knew Ginny was lying, and said as much. _Do you know why you won't make a deal with me? Why you've turned it down without even taking the time to think about it? Because you know that if you let yourself consider our bargain, you'll be tempted to say yes. And why shouldn't you be? I'm offering you exactly what you want._

_You don't have the first clue what I want_.

_Neither do you,_ he countered, _but I promise, when I figure it out, you'll be the first to know._

Ginny was silent for a long time. Draco wondered if she'd passed out, but just as he was leaving to check on her, she spoke again. _You should talk to her_.

_To whom?_ he asked, although he knew full well whom she meant.

_Delia. She's really going, and I don't like you well enough to let you cry on my shoulder._

_She's not leaving_, Draco said confidently. 

Her words wet with firewhisky, Ginny said, _If she's anything like her sister, then she has pride enough to spare and she'll leave you just to prove that she can. She might come back, but she might not. Do you want to take that chance?_

Draco considered that for a moment. No, he didn't want to take the chance. He wouldn't soon forget the way Delia had talked him back from the brink of despair. _Why do you care?_ he asked Ginny.

He felt her smile. It was the one he wore when he'd maneuvered someone into a favorable position. _I'm benevolent when I'm drunk._

Draco almost argued at the supposed benevolence of Agent Jezebel, but quickly changed his mind. Time was short. The Pendragon could wait. Right now, he had to get some sobriety potion, then find Delia.

*          *          *          *          *

Delia surveyed her packed belongings. Should she risk a transporting charm?  After what had happened in the forest with the summoning charm, she was leery of even trying.  Finally, she just called for a house elf and told it to have her things delivered to her parents' house.  She'd find another place to live tomorrow and get her boxes then.

There was a soft knock at the door, but Draco pushed it open without waiting for permission to enter.  He surveyed the mess.  "What are you doing?"

Delia stiffened, but didn't turn around.  "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're leaving.  Do you remember our contract?"  His voice was smooth and calm, with no trace of the drunken anger that had been there before.

"Better than you do, apparently," she said.  "Our contract only called for my loyalty; it never said I had to live in your home to give it."  She turned and picked up the only photo she kept of her twin, taken when they were sixth years, and placed it in her bag.  "That's the last of it.  Do you have anything to say?  If not, then goodbye."

He caught her arm as she walked past and pulled her back and searched her face for some sign that she was bluffing, testing him, but saw nothing to indicate that she wasn't serious.  He couldn't let her leave; that's all there was to it.  "Would you believe me if I drank Veritaserum?"  

Delia considered his offer.  "I might.  I'll let you know."  Her anger had cooled but she wasn't about to fall into his arms and forgive him.  She had more pride than that.

Draco heaved an inward sigh of relief.  The situation was salvageable.  All he had to do was convince her that she was invaluable to the cause, that they couldn't go forward without her.  His thoughts raced headfirst into a viable plan, and then he smiled.  "You'll let me know, will you?  Will you stay while you think about it, at least?  I need someone to give me a second opinion on how to approach this situation.  Blaise is useless, since Ginny is the one who killed Shannon."

Delia quirked an eyebrow, "This situation?  I thought you had it all planned out."  He couldn't be having second thoughts now could he?

"Plans depend on both parties behaving the way they're supposed to," Draco explained.  "Everything about this girl is unpredictable.  She...I don't know.  Blaise would have me throw her in the dungeon and put her on the rack until she sees the light.  I'm thinking subtlety is the way to go."

"She's a Gryffindor," Delia pointed out as she sat on the lid of her closed trunk and looked up at him.  "Subtlety is wasted on people like her."

"All right," Draco replied, fighting to keep his tone even.  At least she wasn't standing, ready to walk out the door.  It was a start.  "Do you have any ideas, then?"

"I might," Delia told him.  "Will you quit glaring and let me think?"

He forced his eyes into a neutral expression and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest.  She was going to stay.  He could see it in her face.  Somewhere in the back of his mind Ginny's voice echoed, _Well done, Malfoy.  The bit about Zabini was a nice touch._

_Every word of it was true_, Draco replied.  _Don't ever be alone with Blaise.  I guarantee it would end badly for one of you._

_Probably for him_, Ginny pointed out wryly.

_A little privacy, please?_ Draco demanded.  _You told me to go after her, and I can't think with you talking in my head_.

There was no answer.

Delia motioned to a chair.  As Draco sat, she asked, "What have you tried so far?"

He shrugged.  "Talking to her.  It's what I do best.  I discredited Potter; did a damn good job of it, by the way.  She'll not forget what I said anytime soon.  I explained how things are, laid out her options, opened negotiation....  She wasn't having it."

Delia thought for a moment, unconsciously grabbing a lock of hair and twisting it in her fingers.  "She's still entrenched in the thinking that Dumbledore pounded into her.  Talking won't work; she's had talking in her direction for too long.  You need another approach."  She frowned and put her hand to her forehead; she was suddenly dizzy.

Draco replied, but Delia couldn't hear what he was saying.  His voice came as though from far away and her head felt thick, filled with smoke; thoughts were coming very slowly.  She felt her Old Magic uncurl within her and streak up towards her mouth, pushing words out that she had no intention of saying.  "Perhaps...no, that won't work." A cruel smile curled across her lips as she dropped her hair and walked over to Draco. "I just might have a solution for you."

He was encouraged by the lascivious glint in her eyes.  She must have decided to forgive him, because she certainly didn't look angry.  "And that would be?" Draco asked, leaning in and winding his arms around her waist.

Delia sank into his lap.  "Make her want to help you.  Out of love." she said the last with derision.

Draco's eyes widened.  He must not have heard correctly.  "_Love_?"

"Stranger things have happened," Delia purred, catching his earlobe between her teeth.

He pulled back and looked her in the face, his expression grave.  "You were ready to leave because it looked like I _may_ have slept with her.  Now you're encouraging me to do just that.  What's the catch?  I won't be played, if that's what you're trying to do.  You can't make a suggestion like this and then tell me next week that you didn't mean it or that you've changed your mind or –"

"All right," Delia interrupted, forcing the words past the silver fire that had taken hold of her throat.  "Not love."  She didn't want Draco falling in love with Ginny; that would destroy everything he'd worked to build.  If Ginny fell in love with _him_, however….  "But you should be able to handle lust without the help of a potion, I'd think.  Chemically induced desires are never as effective as the real thing."

Draco was thoughtful.  "Do you really think it could work?  If I slept with her –"

"I think it might," Delia confirmed, her lips against his.  "It can't hurt to try."

Draco closed his arms around her and lost himself in the kiss.  When she finally pulled away, he said, "If you'd like, I could tell the rest of the faction about our plan.  They wouldn't pity you or –"

She silenced him with another, swift kiss.  "That won't be necessary," she purred.  "It's enough that I know."

"And you swear you won't change your mind?" he murmured into her hair.

"I swear," she whispered, tipping her head up to look into his eyes.  The contractual magic sparked between them, and the smoke cleared from Delia's mind.  Her thoughts crystallized, and her words echoed in her ears.  She jumped to her feet and recoiled, hand over her mouth.

Draco frowned.  "What?  You didn't expect me to make an agreement like that without some kind of insurance?"

"No," Delia murmured, "of course not."  She wasn't listening, though.  Her entire mind was focused on what had just happened; her powers had turned against her and taken control.  She _needed_ to get to the library and find out what was going on.  For a moment, looking at the genuine concern on his face, she almost told him everything: her clandestine meeting with Dana, the abrupt increase in the strength of their Otherworldly powers, the fact that it had not been _she_ who made the suggestion that he seduce Ginny, but something beyond this plane of existence.  She almost confessed…but she couldn't.  It was too much.  She and Dana would solve it on their own; she _couldn't_ let him see her as a liability to his organization, to his plan.  This was where she belonged, and if he discovered that she'd lost control of her powers and had been secretly meeting with a senior Auror, he'd cast her out without a second thought.

"Are you feeling well?" Draco asked.  He stood and walked over to her, opened his arms, and she leaned into the warm embrace.

"I'm fine, just a little…"  Her mind raced to fix on a plausible story.  "I'm at loose ends.  You recruited me to find the Pendragon, in case Dumbledore hid her from you.  You have her now; it's a nonissue.  I'm feeling unnecessary."  She couldn't believe she'd just lied to him; she'd never done so before.  She felt unpleasantly guilty.  He _deserved_ her honesty.  She owed him that much, at least.  She couldn't give it, though.  If he knew what was truly going on, he'd expel her from the faction.  This was the only way.

"Don't," he murmured into her hair.  "Of course you're necessary.  You and Blaise are the two people in the world I trust the most."

Delia didn't reply; she just wrapped her arms tighter around his waist.  He squeezed her back, then looked down into her eyes and smiled.  "I know what to do."

"What?" she whispered, her eyes fixed on his lips.

"You can watch her.  I'm putting you in charge of her security team."

Delia blinked in surprise, hardly sure she'd heard correctly.  "I beg your pardon?  I can _watch_ her?"

"Well," he explained, "you'll hardly feel unnecessary then.  Set up a command post on the other end of the two-way mirror.  You'll set up shifts to watch her, keep me informed, and sound the alarm if she escapes or – I don't know – takes a hostage or something.  You're invaluable to this organization, Delia.  We couldn't get on without you."

She had to accept or risk making him suspicious, so she pasted a smile on her face and whispered, "Thank you," as she leaned up, cupped the back of his neck in her palm, and gently pulled his head down for a kiss.

*          *          *          *          *

Macha leaned over the pool and watched the embrace, one head white-blond, the other a dark red.  "I can't quite believe you just did that."

Mórrígan lounged beside her.  "Otherworldly power is what it is, under the dominion of the triad.  This was my last chance to influence her before Badb seizes complete control."

"It will happen soon, then?"

Mórrígan didn't reply.  The tight set of her mouth and the stormy concern in her eyes were all the answer Macha needed.  She tried again, "The girl is falling in love with the protector and he with her, and you've forced her to send him into the Pendragon's bed.  Jealousy will make her hate them both for this."

"I don't write destiny," Mórrígan said.  "If there were any other way, if it could be done without earning the pawn's animosity, don't you think I would've taken that road?  As it is, I had no more choice than they do.  This is how it must be."

"And Virginia?" Macha asked softly.  "She'll know you were behind it.  Will you treat her hate as nonchalantly as you treat that of our sister's pawn?"

Mórrígan only repeated, "This is how it must be."

"Virginia hasn't made her choice yet," Macha pressed.  "Until she does, we're jeopardizing –"

Before Macha could finish her sentence, Mórrígan jumped to her feet and stalked away.  She disappeared inside her pavilion without looking back.  Macha knew that she'd seen the last of the maiden face for a while, and steeled herself for the warrior mother and death crone, occasionally overwhelming even after an eternity spent in their company.

*          *          *          *          *

In her pavilion, away from the eyes of her sister and her soldiers, Mórrígan sank into a chair and considered what had just happened.  Macha was absolutely correct; Virginia would probably hate her for what she had just done.  Still, his was war.  The bonds between the Pendragon and her protectors had to be as strong as possible.  At this point in time, there was no other way.  Still, perhaps there was something she could give to Virginia in compensation….

The young goddess jerked open a trunk and pulled out a heavy, ruby-encrusted mirror.  As she lifted it to her face, the glass shimmered and rippled like disturbed water, then flattened out again to reveal her champion, pacing across the length of the luxurious room that had become her prison.

Ginny knew right away that she was being watched, froze in place, and looked around.  Mórrígan was pleased.

"Where are you?" Ginny asked out loud, turning in a full circle but seeing no one in the room but herself.  "I know you're here."  After all this time, she could feel when the goddess was close by.

"I'm here," Mórrígan said.

Ginny spun again, opened her mouth to speak out loud, but then remembered the spy mirror in the corner.  Draco's faction was somewhere in the house, watching her every move.  She took a moment to concentrate on blocking everyone but the goddess from her thoughts and said silently, _If you're close enough to talk to me, you're close enough to get me out._

"That isn't possible," Mórrígan said.  "Not at this time."

The Pendragon resumed her pacing.  _Then did you drop by to talk?  I'll be here for months before my plan starts to work.  Who knows what kind of mess the world will be in by then?_

"Not months," the goddess said, and Ginny stopped in place.  Mórrígan continued, "Your powers are stronger now, infinitely stronger than they were when you were sixteen.  What took so long then will happen very quickly now."

_You're saying I'm bleeding into him_, Ginny translated.  _Aren't you?  You're sure?  He'll let me go?_

"No," Mórrígan replied, and Ginny let out a frustrated roar, so like one of the goddess's own.

_I can't stay here!  Harry is ready to explode.  I can feel…._

"Then reassure him," the goddess instructed.

_I can't.  He'd charge in here and get himself killed.  That's how he is._

"Then send someone else to reassure him.  He will know that you're safe, and you will exert your power over the one who thinks he can cage you and keep you for his own purposes."

Ginny blinked in surprise, mulling that over, then nodded.  _I understand_.

Mórrígan acknowledged, "You're much faster to comprehend than you were when we first met.  I think linking with your other protector has made you more intelligent."

Ginny made an obscene gesture towards the ceiling because she didn't know where else to direct it, then went back to her pacing, knowing Mórrígan was watching, but determined to ignore her.  She had to handle this delicately, manipulating Draco so that he didn't know he was being manipulated.  She had to make him think he was going to the Division on his own, to lord it over to Harry that he'd won the latest battle in their twelve-year feud.  She resumed her pacing and started to plan.

*          *          *          *          *

The next morning:

Ron drained his tenth cup of coffee and looked at the report through bloodshot eyes.  "You're telling me _no one_ saw her vanish?  Not one person in the entire village, out of all the people at the Imbolc festival?  How is that _possible_?"  The sun was coming up; he'd have to go home and break the news to his mum soon and wanted to have at least _something_ concrete to take to her, not a lot of uninformative reports and gut feelings from his best friend.  "Harry said she'd just stepped out for a minute.  How could you not have found someone who saw her leave the pub, at least?"

"That's another strange thing," Agent Taliesin said, sliding into a seat across from the strategic planner.  "Madame Rosmerta doesn't remember seeing Ginny either.  She was positive Potter came into her pub alone.  All the Hogsmeade residents and festival goers remember Potter, but not Ginny.  In all the rolls of film taken by all the paparazzi, not one photograph shows Potter with anyone.  All eyewitness accounts have him entering the village alone, standing outside of the pub alone, then going inside alone."

Ron frowned.  "Are you saying Harry is lying about my sister?"

The other Auror ignored Ron's vaguely threatening tone.   Taliesin was one of the most senior officers in the Surveillance department, and wasn't going to be intimidated by Ron's bad temper.  "I'm telling you what the eyewitness accounts said.  Your sister was never in the village.  Wherever she went, she was gone before Potter went to the Three Broomsticks.  Make of it what you like; I collect information, I don't interpret it.  That's your department's job.  But, yes, it would certainly seem that Agent Midas knows more than he's saying about Ginny's disappearance."

Ron tried to force his sleep-deprived mind to reason out an explanation for his friend's behavior, but couldn't come up with a single theory that made any sense.  "All right," he said aloud.  "Thank you, Taliesin."

Taliesin stood, but didn't leave.  "Potter has been insisting that she's being held in Malfoy Manor."

Ron rubbed his eyes, steeling himself for the impending confrontation with his best friend.  "That's right."

"I'd start with that," Taliesin offered.  "Why is he so adamant that she's _there_ of all places?  It might tell you why he's been less than straightforward about the other things."

"I know," Ron sighed.  "I'll talk to him right away."

"Right," Taliesin acknowledged.  "And my team and I will spend the rest of the day investigating the Malfoys."

"I'd rather be in your shoes," Ron said, picking up the surveillance notes and copies of the paparazzi photographs to use in case Harry proved difficult.  He hoped he wouldn't need them.

"So would I," Taliesin said.  "Good luck."

"I'm going to need it."

*          *          *          *          *

Harry walked into his office, hung his cloak on the hook near the door, and set his briefcase down before he realized there was someone else in the room with him.  He jerked his head up and his startled green eyes locked with a calm gray gaze.  It was Draco Malfoy, that person whom, at the moment, he detested more than any other.  Without missing a beat, Harry's wand was in hand and trained on the Death Eater's forehead.  "Where is she?"

Draco lounged in Harry's chair, shoes propped up on the Auror's desk.  His smile was cool.  "You already know where, I'm sure."

"I should kill you."  Harry's words were even and soft, but Draco detected the rage simmering just beneath the surface.

"You _should_, I agree.  It's what any decent Auror would do.  It's what Dumbledore would want, even though he'd pay lip service to the wrongness of unforgivable curses.  Thinking like an Auror is a liability, Potter.  It's not going to help you one bit.  Think like a protector of the Pendragon, and we might actually get somewhere."

"This isn't a _game_!" Harry said, his voice rising to a shout on the last word.  "Where _is_ she?  You'll tell me or I'll end you, I swear to the goddess I will."

His nemesis arched an eyebrow.  "Don't swear.  It's a promise you can't keep."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Malfoy," Harry hissed.  "If we duel, I'll be able to shoot a lot more than sparks."

Draco smiled lazily.  "We were _children_, Potter.  Don't you think it's time you let that go?  Are you still angry about Hagrid's dragon too?"

"_Where is she_?"

"At the manor," he replied, suddenly serious, "and I'm here for a reason.  Voldemort is looking for her.  She's safe where she is and I want you to seriously consider leaving her with me –"

"In Death Eater headquarters?  Isn't that what you called it when we were at school?" Harry snarled.  "_Safe_?  What drugs could you _possibly_ be on that you'd think I'd abandon her –"

"_Don't_!" Draco said.  He didn't raise his voice, but his tone stopped Harry mid-sentence.  "The Dark Lord is after her.  Right now, I can protect her.  You can't.  Leave her to me."

Harry stared.  He couldn't believe his ears.  "_Leave_ her…_leave _her to _you_?  You're the next Dark Lord.  You're the worst Death Eater of them all.  We have an entire _room_, cabinets upon cabinets of files on things you've done but haven't been caught for, and you expect me to leave Ginny to –"

"Oh, yes," Draco interrupted smoothly, "I'd forgotten.  You're in love with her.  It's clouding your judgment, Potter, although I can't say I blame you; she's a gorgeous thing, isn't she?  Curves like I've never seen.  I'd have to be dead not to appreciate, but I'd never let it get in the way of reason.  You need to consider this rationally."

Harry's voice was cold.  "Anything you touch her with, Malfoy, I will cut off and feed to you."

The corners of Draco's mouth quirked up in a smile.  "How messy."

Harry's wand never wavered.  "You've linked with her."

Draco inclined his head.  "And you know what that means, Potter," he drawled.  "You've been obsessed for years with having her commit all of herself to you, but now it's a pipe dream.  You'll never have everything she has to give, because part of her will always belong to me, and you'll never be able to forget."

"If you hurt her –"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to torture or kill her, if that's what you're thinking.  She has a comfortable room; no sleeping on cold dungeon floors."

Harry's hand tightened around the wand, but he didn't fire.  The silence stretched between them, then Draco swung his feet off of Harry's desk and crossed the room to stand before him.  He looked down into the Auror's face and said, "She's safe right now, but she won't be if you try to get her out.  I'm telling the truth."

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, his words just as quiet as Draco's had been.

The Death Eater smirked, and suddenly the Draco that was so familiar to Harry from their school days was back.  "Because, Potter, I've won.  I just wanted to stop by and let you know."

He started to move past, and Harry closed a vice-like grip around Draco's upper arm.  "You haven't won anything.  You're going to jail.  You won't reach the Department waiting room before incarceration agents are all over you."

Draco arched an imperious eyebrow.  "My father is the chairman of the Grand Council; I don't need to remind you."

"Will you _stop_ hiding behind your father!" Harry snapped.  "It was pathetic when we were eleven, and it's even worse now.  You're twenty-three.  Grow up."

To Harry's surprise, Draco actually seemed to be thinking about his words.  His eyes considering, the Death Eater finally spoke.  "How about this, then?"  His words dripped with soft menace.  "If I'm gone, there's nothing to stop them tearing her limb from limb, Pendragon or no.  Ginny murdered Shannon Cannon.  My faction is ready to kill her family in front of her, just so she can watch them die.  _I_ am what's standing in their way.  You remove me from the equation, and any blood spilled is on your head, Potter."  Draco looked down at Harry's hand, still gripping his arm, then back to Harry's face, a sneer twisting his lips.  "Your call."

Harry let go as though he'd been burned.  "Get out of here."

Draco smiled.  "I knew you'd be reasonable."

As the office door swung closed, Draco felt an overwhelming surge of triumph roar through his mind.  It wasn't coming from him; he didn't feel at all happy about the outcome of this interview.  Going to see _Potter_?  What the hell had possessed him?  Then he knew, and with the realization, anger flared.  _Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?_ he roared.  _How _dare_ you?_

_I'm the Pendragon_, she replied.  _I dare anything I damn well please._

_We're going to have a talk_, he said, struggling to get a grip on his temper, to keep from exploding in the middle of the Auror division.

_I'm not going anywhere_.  Her tone was challenging, even defiant.

He turned back towards the door, read the name plate.  _Agent Midas_.  It hadn't been a dream.  She'd really made him go tell Potter she was safe and unharmed.  He hated her for this, for taking his control away.  She made sure he was aware that the feeling was mutual.

For the second time in as many minutes, an iron grip closed around Draco's upper arm.  He had to look up to meet Weasley's eyes.  "What," the Auror said furiously, "in the nine hells are _you_ doing here?"

The office door swung open and Harry stepped out.  "Let him go, Ron."

Ron stared.  "He walks right into our office, and you tell me to –"

"Let him _go_," Harry ordered.

Ron released Draco with a snarl of distaste.  "Leave.  Now."

Draco smiled at them both.  "And a good morning to you too, Weasel," he said pleasantly.  "It's reassuring to see that your manners haven't improved with age.  The stigma of low birth never quite goes away, does it?"

Harry caught Ron's arm before his friend could hit Malfoy.  "Get out," Harry said.  "Remember what I said."

"You do the same," Draco said, then turned on his heel and walked out, his thoughts occupied with Ginny, and his revenge for this stunt.

As soon as the Death Eater disappeared through the door, Ron whirled around and faced his friend.  "Harry, that was Draco Malfoy."

Harry nodded, pulled the other Auror into the office, and shut the door against eavesdroppers.  "I went to the mess for breakfast, and he was here when I got back."

Ron was shocked.  This was not Malfoy behavior.  He'd spent the last five years of his life trying to second-guess that entire dirty family, and he knew that there was no way the Dark Lord's second in command would ever walk into the Auror Division and sit down for a chat in Harry Potter's office.  "What did he want?"

Harry didn't waste any time.  "Put a watch on the Burrow and the twins' shop."

"We've had one since she went missing."

"Double it."

Ron frowned.  "I don't understand –"

"Your family is in danger, Ron.  _You're_ in danger, and Hermione.  More danger than you can even imagine.  Owl your wife and tell her she's not to leave Hogwarts until we have Ginny back, even just to walk on the grounds."

Ron tried to keep up with his friend's words.  "Did Malfoy _threaten_ us?  Why are you –"

"I'm a field agent," Harry snapped.  "This is what I do.  I assess risk, and take measures to counteract.  Don't let Hermione out of the castle.  _Triple_ the watch on your brothers and parents, and put one on Mike too.  You have no idea –"

"Then _tell_ me!" Ron shouted.  "Why have you been lying?  _Where is my sister_?"

"She's exactly where I said she was," Harry replied, his voice deadly calm.  "At Malfoy Manor.  He just sat at my desk and told me so."

Ron was dumbfounded.  "Why would he do that?  He can't be turning double agent."

"No."

"And you believed him?"

"Yes."

Ron opened his folder and pulled out the photographs, held them to his best friend.  Harry took them and flipped through.  Ron said, "These were taken yesterday at the village.  Ginny isn't in any of them.  She was never at the pub.  She never 'stepped out for a minute.' "  His voice grew louder on every word.  "She never even made it to Hogsmeade.  It's time for you to tell me the _truth_!  When was the last time you saw her?  Where did you leave her?  Where did she go?  And how the _fuck_ did you know she was kidnapped by Death Eaters when you hadn't laid eyes on her in _at least half an hour_?"

Harry studied the glossy eight-by-tens: in one, he stood outside the Three Broomsticks, his collar pulled up around his face; in another, he looked embarrassed at the flashbulbs popping; in a third, he tried to sidle off the edge of the photograph.  Damned paparazzi.  Harry dropped the photographs on the tile floor, aimed his wand, and before Ron could stop him, said, "_Incendio_."

Ron's mouth dropped open, and the next thing Harry knew, his best friend had grabbed hold of the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall.  "Why," Ron demanded, "did you do that?"

Harry closed his hands around Ron's and tried to loosen their grasp.  "It's better if everyone involved thinks she was in the village with me."

Ron didn't let go.  "Explain why."

"I can't.  I'm asking you to trust me."

"What do you know that I don't?  If it's about my sister, I have a right to know."

"I know," Harry said quietly.  "And I'll tell you, but not now.  This is a bad time."

Ron's grip tightened again.  "Am I _inconveniencing_ you?"

"No!"  Harry finally had enough.  He shifted, then used the leverage of his forearms to push out on Ron's wrists, forcing the other Auror to let him go.  "This isn't a conversation that we can have here."

His friend took a step back.  "I'm going to Hogwarts tonight to update Hermione on the search.  You're coming with me, and you're going to explain why you're lying about where Ginny was before she vanished."

"Only if you don't tell anyone else that she wasn't in the village.  It doesn't matter to the end result, anyway.  She's at Malfoy Manor.  We have proof now.  He told me to my face that he had her."

Ron shook his head.  "It's no good.  The information is hearsay unless we find corroborating evidence.  I have Taliesin on it, though, and he and his team are the best.  If there's any proof that she's there, they'll find it."

Harry nodded, wanting very badly to believe his friend.  _Ginny_, he called out, _are you all right?  Say something!  _There was no answer, and had been none since she'd vanished.

Ron said, a little gruffly, "You've been here all night.  Go home and get some sleep; there's nothing you can do right now.  Field agents don't have anything to do with this stage of the investigations."

Harry shook his head.  "You still haven't told your parents.  I'm going with you.  Do you think I'd let you go through that alone?  And while we're at the Burrow, I'll make sure the security detail is increased and that the hit wizards Catherine assigned are up to scratch."

Ron nodded, glad he wouldn't have to break the news alone, but confused and upset over Harry's stubborn insistence on holding to lies, and very, very afraid for his sister's welfare.

*          *          *          *          *

Draco stormed through the wall.  "What the _hell_ do you think you were doing?"

Ginny sat at the dining table, her bare feet drawn up beneath her.  She shifted a pile of cards and said, "Why are you asking me questions you already know the answers to?  I needed to let Harry know that I'm as safe as I can be.  You," a sly smile tinged her lips, "were in the right place at the right time."

"The right _place_?"

"When compared to me, for example."  She motioned vaguely at the room, but didn't lift her eyes from the table.

He froze, to angry to think, and stared at her.  She'd found a deck of tarot cards in the back of a drawer somewhere, had separated out the major arcana and was using the minor arcana to play – "_Solitaire_?"

She shifted the ace of swords onto the two of cups.  "I was bored."

He could only gape.  "That's _not_ what those are for!" he shouted, when he finally had regained his wits enough to talk.

Ginny shrugged.  "You wouldn't leave me anything to read."  The seven of pentacles went on the eight of wands.

His long legs carried him to her table in three strides, and he reached down and scooped the cards into a pile.  "Hey!" she protested.  "I was going to win!"

"Tell someone who cares," he snapped back.  "These cards were hand painted by Rowena Ravenclaw.  I haven't the faintest idea how they wound up in here, but they've been in my family for generations and I'm not going to let you _desecrate_ them."

Ginny arched an eyebrow.  "They weren't."

Draco scowled.  "Weren't what?  Desecrated?  You were using them for _solitaire_!"  His pale face was unusually flushed as he struggled to maintain control.  It was a losing battle not to wring her neck.

"They weren't painted by Rowena Ravenclaw," she clarified.  Ginny reached into the pile in front of him and fished out a card.  "Look at this one."

"So?" Draco asked, studying the card in her hand.  It had a picture of a woman riding a gold chariot drawn by a red horse.  The woman held a sword aloft and her red hair streamed out behind her.

"_So_," Ginny said, "it's a portrait of the Mórrígan."

He pulled the card out of her hand and looked at it more closely.  "Are you serious?"

She nodded, and trailed her finger along the woman's brilliant red locks.  "Also, this kind of red wasn't made in the Founders' time.  It's a very specific pigment, with a secret recipe that only a few knew.  By the time Ravenclaw came into her own as a witch, this was already arcane knowledge."

"How would you know that?" Draco asked incredulously.

Ginny leaned across the table to get a better look.  "I went through an art history phase.  Read everything I could get my hands on."

"You're saying these cards were made before the Founders?" he couldn't quite believe he was holding something so old.

Ginny nodded.  "I'm saying this portrait of the goddess was painted by someone who saw her in person, which means that the cards were made before the Otherworld was closed off."

He reverently set the card atop the pile, then looked up at her, eyes once again blazing.  "And you were _playing_ with them?  For all we know, they were made by Merlin himself.  You're _unbelievable_."  He took a deep breath, about to flay her once more for sending him waltzing into the Auror Division, but she stopped him cold.

Ginny tipped her chair onto its back legs and propped her feet up on the table.  It was a maneuver calculated to unnerve him, and she felt a flush of satisfaction when it worked.  "You can yell at me," she said, taking advantage of his silence, "or you can read my tarot cards.  Your choice.  A deck this old is sure to have some kind of extra magic.  If you'd rather throw a tantrum, though…what's done is done.  I'm not sorry, and all the screaming in the world isn't going to make me sorry.  I did what I had to do."

Draco's equilibrium, his innate sense of rightness and wrongness, careened wildly.  He had to regain the upper hand, show her which one of them held control of the situation.  He was her captor.  He was the Dark Lord's second in command.  He could handle this Gryffindor.  He could get his revenge later, after he'd secured what he needed from her.  And, for now, that meant that if she wanted her tarot read, he'd oblige.  Truthfully, he was curious about what the cards would show.  "Get your feet off the table."

She smirked, and tilted her chair back to the ground.  "I knew you'd be reasonable."

He glared, then rifled through the pile and fished out a card and slid the rest over to her.  "Shuffle three times and cut the deck."

She obeyed.  "Why did you take one out?"

"It's your Significator," Draco explained.  "A card that represents you."

Ginny cut the deck and slid it back to him.  "Which one did you choose?"

He laid it down in the center of the table.  The King of Swords.  She arched an eyebrow, but didn't comment.  Draco dealt the cards into a basic spread and took a moment to survey the results.  Most of the cards in the spread were from the suit of Swords, which didn't surprise him in the least.

"All right.  This first card," he pointed to the one that lay on top of her Significator, "covers you.  It's the substance of your problem."

"The ten of wands," Ginny said, because he seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

"Right.  It's the burden of success," he translated.  "Heavy responsibilities, pressure to succeed, loneliness at the top."  Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but before she could get a word out, he said, "This next card," he touched the one that laid crosswise over the ten of wands, "shows forces that may help or hinder you.  It's the seven of wands."

"He looks angry."  The man on the card held a stick and glared out at them with furious eyes, rendered in vivid inks.

"He's holding firm," Draco corrected.  "A conflict is coming to a head; you have a superior vantage point of the situation.  You…"  He trailed off.

"I what?"

He looked up and, forcing his voice to remain steady, said, "You have the advantage even if you don't realize it."

Ginny leaned in close.  "What if I _do_ realize it?"

They were just tarot cards; they didn't mean anything, Draco reminded himself.  He opted to ignore her question.  "The next card," he pointed to the one below the central group, "is where you're coming from regarding the matter at hand.  It's the judgment card, which can mean a rebirth or an identity crisis, among other things.  No surprise there.  Next you have the eight of swords, which shows your recent past."

The card depicted a woman, bound and blindfolded, standing among swords that had been plunged into the dirt.  "She's trapped," Ginny observed.

"Yes."  He forced himself to keep his tone businesslike.  "This card can mean a lack of empowerment, forced restraint, bondage, confusion, emotional pain…your life hasn't been very good."

"No."

"And it's mostly been your fault."

"No!"  Fury sparked in her eyes.

"The card says otherwise.  The eight of swords means that you're your own worst enemy.  Fear, blockage, limitation…all self-imposed.  You can blame Dumbledore and Tom Riddle all you like, Ginny, but this," he held the card up, "says that you need to come to terms with your fears because you're going to have to make an important decision very soon.  You can't afford the luxury of being afraid."

Ginny couldn't have looked more stunned if he'd slapped her across the face.  She looked over her shoulder, scanning the room as though she fully expected someone else to be in there with them.

"What are you looking for?" Draco asked, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

She turned back to face him.  "Nothing.  Keep going."

He felt her gather her courage, steel herself for whatever the cards said next.  Something he'd said had touched a nerve; Draco only wished he could find out what, so he could use it again.  "This card," he touched the one on top of the central group, "shows the best possible outcome.  It's the six of wands reversed, meaning delayed victory."

"Delayed victory is the _best_ outcome?"  That didn't sound good.

He nodded, "It looks that way," then moved on to the card to the right of the central group.  "This shows what's coming, what's in store for your future."

Ginny tilted her head, confused.  "The Lovers card?"  She was already in love with someone; it was in her past, not her future.

"It doesn't mean that you're going to fall in love, necessarily," he explained.  "More likely, considering the other cards in the spread so far, it means a partnership, a fork in the road, and another reference to a major choice.  You'll have a decision, two paths you can take, and you'll have to settle on one."

She rolled her eyes.  "An easy choice, between Harry and you."

"It might have nothing to do with me," Draco pointed out.  "I wouldn't be so quick to assume if I were you.  This next card represents your state of mind."  The grin, though he tried to stifle it, still tugged at his mouth.

"What's funny?"  Ginny demanded.

"It's bad."

"You don't need to look so happy about it," she said with disgust.  The thought of being tied to this man for life repulsed her.  She was never going to be able to get rid of him, and in that moment the years ahead seemed _very_ long.

"The Tower reversed," Draco explained.  "Restriction of freedom, failure to live up to expectations…  You think your life is unfair."

"It _is_ unfair!"

He arched an eyebrow.  "You say that so often, Ginny, I wonder what your basis for comparison is."

She snapped, "Don't you _dare_ judge me –"

He held up his hand and, before she could go off, said, "It's _your_ life.  You're not going to get another one.  If I were you, I'd make do with the one I was given, even though it comes with a destiny you wish you didn't have."

Her lips pressed thin.  "Tell me what else the card means."

"Um…imprisonment.  Probably literal, all things considered."  He motioned to the walls of her room, then continued, "Also, you're going to have to face problems that could have been avoided but, then, we both knew that already, didn't we?  You have Potter to thank for –"

"If you mention his name one more time," Ginny said, "I'll break your fucking nose."

Draco grinned outright.  "How incredibly vulgar."

The next card in the spread, representing the people around her, was the seven of swords.  "It means someone is trying to take advantage of you," he explained.

"That's pretty obvious."

"Good god, you're giving me a lot of credit," Draco said.  "There's no reason to think that _any_ of these cards have _anything_ to do with me.  Someone is going to sabotage you, Ginny, and I'm not going to be that person.  We have a bargain, remember?"

"If not you, then who?  I'm not stupid."

"But you _are_ narrow-minded, and that's all I can tell you."  He shrugged.  "Divination is an inexact thing."

"I took Care of Magical Creatures."

"I know."

She made an aggravated noise and said, "Keep going."

The next card was the Chariot, the one with the portrait of the Mórrígan.  "This is your greatest hope."

"The goddess?" Ginny asked incredulously.  "I don't even _like_ her."

"It means balance.  Determination, control, success…you'll need to take control of competing forces."  Draco's heart sank.  These ancient cards had laid bare her price, her dearest wish, and he hadn't the faintest idea how he was going to give it to her.  She wanted to succeed, to restore the balance and fulfill the will of the goddess in the picture and everything the card stood for, wanted it more than she wanted her next breath.  It was ingrained in who she was, for all that she fought it.  How could he turn this to his advantage?

She interrupted his thoughts, and circumvented his strategy with one shrewd question.  "This control of competing forces – can _you_ give it to me?"

Draco cursed her newfound cunning.  He had to answer honestly; the magic held him to it.  "No, I can't."  The words fell from his tongue like lead weights.  He'd just lost any advantage he could have had on that front, and would have to find another way.  _There was always Delia's plan_, his mind said, but when he came right down to it, Draco didn't think he'd be able to go through with it.  The thought made him sick, and he couldn't understand why.  He'd used such tactics before without a qualm, but with _her_…

"What does the last card mean?"

He shook himself out of his reverie.  He'd think the situation over later, when he had some time alone.  "Right.  The last card is the final outcome.  It's the two of swords reversed.  The end of a stalemate, and a definite choice."

"Does it say what I'm going to choose?"

He turned another card off of the pile for clarification, and then sucked in a breath.  It was the queen of wands reversed.  A red-haired goddess, her face terrible and twisted, looked out at them.  Draco cleared his throat.  "Egotism, manipulation, domination, lies…whatever choice you make," he said, "it's going to earn you a mortal enemy."

Draco pushed his chair back and stood.  He needed to be alone and regroup, formulate a new plan of attack.  He had a chilling feeling that he knew exactly who the queen of wands might be.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

He didn't even take the time to sneer or toss off a nasty comment.  He'd read her cards, and now he had to get out of this room.

Ginny watched him gather the deck and disappear through the wall without a word.  The moment he was gone, she tipped her head to the ceiling and demanded, "What the hell was that all about?  Suppose you explain what's going on?"

No answer.

"I _know_ you're here somewhere!" she shouted, not caring who overheard.  "He said I can't afford to be afraid, which is your fucking _mantra_, and I deserve an explanation!"

The goddess was silent.

Ginny considered the whisky decanter on the sideboard, but ignored it in favor of pacing the room.

Watching on the other end of the spy-mirror, Delia was reminded of a caged lion.  She didn't know what to make of their prisoner talking to an empty room, and filed the information away for future reference.

Grace poked her head in the door.  "Delia?  This just came for you."  She held out an envelope.

"By owl?" she asked as she tore the letter open.  She recognized the handwriting right away.  What could be so important that Day would write to her, when she _knew_ how dangerous it was?

*          *          *          *          *

That night:

Delia stepped into the clearing, irritation and nervousness evident on her face.  "Do you have any idea what they'll do to you if they find you here?" she demanded.

"As though you care," Dana replied.  She wore black robes; she didn't want to be seen.  She knew her sister was right about what would happen to both of them if the Death Eaters discovered her.

"You're my _twin_.  Of course I care what happens to you."  Despite her kind words, Delia's tone was peevish.  "What's so important that you dragged me out here in the middle of the night?"

Dana glanced through the trees.  The mansion's lights were just barely visible twinkling through the branches.  "I need some information."

Delia shook her head emphatically.  "Absolutely not," she said.  "How could you ask me that, Day?  I never ask you about the Aurors."

"Do you think I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important?" Dana snapped.

"With you, it's always important," Delia said, irritated.  "It's all dramatics and matters of life and death.  When are you going to wake up and learn that nothing is ever black or white?"

Dana elected not to answer her sister's question.  Instead, she said, "An Auror has gone missing."

Delia shrugged.  "Being an Auror is a dangerous line of work."

"Dammit, Dee!  Have you heard anything?"

"Why are you asking questions you know I'm not going to answer?"  Delia examined her fingernails.

"Please," Dana said softly.  "Please, Dee.  I didn't come on behalf of the Auror Division or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  I'm here for myself and I have to know how badly she's hurt."  Dana refused to consider the possibility that Ginny was dead.  It just couldn't be.

"She?" Delia asked.  She knew full well whom Dana was asking about, but decided to drag it out as long as possible.

Dana took a deep breath.  "It's Ginny Weasley.  Anything you've heard at all, Dee.  Anything, please?"  She couldn't believe she had been reduced to begging her sister, but she was desperate.

Delia considered her twin carefully.  "I might have heard something," she finally said.

"_Might_ have?" Dana asked sharply.  "You're a wonderful liar, Dee, but never with me.  Where is she?"

"I don't know."  Delia was bored with this conversation.  She wanted to get back into the house and have a long bath.  And then maybe have Draco.

"Ginny's in there, isn't she."  Dana motioned toward Malfoy Manor with her head.  "Is she all right?"

Delia shrugged.  "She's as fine as she can be, I suppose."

Dana sucked in a breath.  Her fear for her friend's well being had just intensified tenfold.  "What's that supposed to mean?  What have you people done to her?"

"Nothing drastic.  She hasn't been beaten or cursed.  At least," she added, remembering Ginny's first few hours at the manor, "not lately."

Dana's face was like stone.  "I have to see."

"That's impossible.  I promise that she's all right.  She's more valuable alive than dead.  Draco has personally ordered that no one go near her."

Dana gave a short, mocking laugh.  "The most effective tortures aren't physical.  A promise from Malfoy is completely worthless, and a promise from you is only marginally better.  I have to see."

"You can't."

"I will."

Delia raised an eyebrow.  "How?"

Dana shrugged.  "That's for you to figure out, isn't it?  All I have to say is that if I don't see with my own eyes that she's all right I'll have every Auror at the ministry banging down Malfoy's front door tomorrow."

Her sister was amused.  "You'd never send me to Azkaban"

"You're right.  They'll be under orders to take no prisoners."

Delia paled.  "You would never do that."

"No," Dana answered.  "I wouldn't, if you let me see Ginny."  She prayed her twin wouldn't call her bluff.

Delia muttered something under her breath, the only words of which Dana caught were "bloody Slytherin."

The sisters regarded each other silently for several moments.  Then, reluctantly, Delia unhooked the chain around her neck and held it out to her sister.  An amulet hung from the necklace; it was crescent shaped, and the points were sharp.  "The door to her prison will only open for someone with the Dark Mark.  You could get in, but you'd never be able to get out."

Dana took the chain from her sister.  "I assume this will take care of the problem?"

Delia nodded.  "New recruits who are deemed trustworthy are given these amulets to get them into restricted areas before their marks are burned on."

"So why are you still wearing it?  You've had your mark for ages."

Delia's smile was eerie.  "It was given to me by the Dark Lord himself.  He was the one to place it around my neck."

Dana felt queasy.  She would have to take a shower when she got home, after wearing something Voldemort had his hands all over.  "That's disgusting."

Delia laughed, but it sounded forced.  They both knew what would happen to them if Dana were caught.  "I'm joking, idiot.  Draco is the one who gave it to me.  I kept it because it's cool.  It certainly fits the atmosphere in that house."

Dana fastened the chain around her own neck and tucked the amulet beneath her shirt.  "I'll need a mark," she said.  "My sleeves are loose.  All someone would have to do is pull one up, and they'd know I'm not you."

Delia drew her wand, but Dana grabbed her wrist.  "Don't you dare."

"It's just an illusion charm -," Delia said, but Dana interrupted, "You'll blow my arm off, considering how our powers are acting lately.  Think of another way."

Seemingly from nowhere, Delia produced a lip liner.  "Come here."  Dana held out her left forearm, and Delia began to draw.

Dana watched her sister sketch the ugly skull-and-snake on her arm and said softly, "You know, Dee, it's never too late to join the side that's going to win.  Please, think about it?"  

Delia finished the mark and capped the makeup pencil.  

Dana pressed her case.  "We have the right on our side.  You could always come back with me."

Delia gave her twin a strange smile.  "That's funny, Day," she said, "because I was just about to say the same thing to you."

*          *          *          *          *

Just outside the front door, Dana paused and steeled her nerve.  She was Delia now, a Death Eater who'd kept rooms at Malfoy Manor for at least two years.  She should walk like she owned the place.  Dana straightened her shoulders and reached for the heavy iron ring on the door.  It swung open at her touch.  Across the spacious entryway, a red-carpeted staircase swooped to the first floor and beyond.  Dana walked towards it, mentally rehearsing her twin's directions on how to find Ginny's room.  She'd only ascended ten steps when something stopped her dead.

"Delia," Malfoy called, jogging up the stairs behind her.  Dana almost hadn't recognized his voice without that maddening drawl.  He sounded...normal, which was enough to make her wary.

"Yes?" she asked casually as she turned to face him.  Her heart leapt up to her throat and she gripped the banister tightly to keep her hand from shaking.

Draco stopped two steps below her, putting them at eye level.  "Where are you going in such a hurry?" he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips.

_What would Delia say to that?_ Dana thought frantically.  But she hadn't been placed in Slytherin for nothing and the words flowed from her lips by instinct.  "To my room.  I left a book in there that has some information I want to check against one in your father's library.  Do you need something?"

The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.  Not a smirk, a smile.  Goddess above, this was not normal Malfoy behavior.  What the hell was going on between him and her sister?  Dana felt queasy.

"Do I need something?" he repeated.  The words became a double entendre.  Draco laughed softly and leaned in.  "What do you think, Delia?  Do I need something?"

Realization sank in.  He was the man Delia was interested in.  She forced herself not to choke on the words, "Absolutely.  Maybe we can meet later and do something about it?"

"Later?" he asked, that half-smile still playing around his lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes.  Dana had never, in a million years, thought that Malfoy would look at her, or anyone, this way.  He whispered against her lips, "I'm impatient."

She made herself smile back.  "That's a lie."

He laughed gently.  "A preview then?  To tide me over?"

_He's not going to do what I think he's going to do is he?_ Dana thought, inwardly panicking as Malfoy leaned closer and brought a hand up to the back of her head.  _Oh God and goddess, he is_.

Dana jerked away; she couldn't help it.  It was an involuntary reaction.  Draco's eyes narrowed.  "You're not still upset about last night, are you?" he asked.  "I told you, nothing happened."

Dana shook her head.  She had no idea what he was talking about, but could only brazen it out and hope she didn't make a crucial misstep.  "No.  Well, maybe a little.  You can make it up to me tonight."  She took another step up to place a few more inches of space between them.  "I'm going to get that book, unless there really was something you needed."  She grimaced at his expression, "Other than _that_, I mean."  This was too creepy for her: Malfoy acting like a human being.  Worse, Malfoy acting like a human being in love, or at least in lust.  She suppressed a shudder.

"No," he said.  "I'm fine for now.  I'll be in my study if you change your mind."

Dana smiled.  "We'll see." She turned and resumed her walk up the staircase, forcing herself through superhuman effort not to run like hell.  At the top, she turned to the left and then he was out of sight.

*          *          *          *          *

Harry flopped into an armchair and faced Ron and Hermione, who sat together on the sofa.  Although their rooms at Hogwarts were small and cozy, Harry felt anything but comfortable.  His best friends stared him down, stone-faced, and waited for an explanation.

Ron realized Harry wasn't going to be the one to open the conversation.  "Well?  What about it?  You've been lying to us since before we knew she was gone.  You've destroyed evidence.  _What is going on with my sister_?"

Hermione rested her hand on Ron's knee and squeezed, a warning for him to keep his voice down.  "Let him explain," she said, fixing Harry with a sharply assessing stare.

Harry was nervous.  Hermione was much smarter than he, and would be sure to catch any inconsistencies in his story.  "What do you want to know first?"

"When you said she'd stepped out for a minute, where had she really gone?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head.  "I can't tell you that."

"_You_ –"

"Ron!" he shouted over his friend.  "Listen.  I'm not going to lie to you, so if you ask me something I can't talk about, I'm not going to answer.  That's all there is to it."

"Is it classified?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Harry said, relieved that she'd given him an out.  "It's classified.  I can't talk about it."

"We have the same clearance level," Ron protested.  "If Hermione left the room –"

"You're not cleared for this," Harry said.  His tone was final.  "Next question."

"I'm not _cleared for_ –"

Hermione squeezed his leg once again.  When Ron stopped talking long enough to glare at her, she took the opportunity to say, "I have a question.  How did you know when she went missing?"

Harry framed his reply in the vaguest terms possible.  "We're under a spell."

Hermione tilted her head to the side.  "What kind of spell?"

Harry didn't know how to explain, but he gave it his best shot.  "It tells one of us when the other is in trouble.  It's kind of like an alarm system, so we can cover each other's backs."

She nodded thoughtfully, processing that information.

"How did you know she was at Malfoy Manor?" Ron asked.

Hermione answered her husband's question.  "This spell told him, right, Harry?"

Harry nodded, relieved that she'd helped him.  "That's right.  It's a gut feeling.  I just _know_ that's where she is, somehow.  I'm not sure how it works."

Hermione mulled this over, then asked, "How long have you been under this spell?"

"Um…a long time."

"_How_ long?  Since you joined the Division?"

Harry shook his head reluctantly.  "Before that.  Since Hogwarts."

"You _what_?" Ron exploded, but Hermione shushed him.

"That long?" she asked, mild surprise tingeing her features.  "It must be powerful magic to have lasted so many years.  Which one of you performed it?"

"Er, what?" Harry asked.

"The spell," she said.  "Which one of you performed it?  Did you do it?"

"No…"

"Then she did?"

"Not exactly.  I mean, I don't –"

"You don't know," Hermione filled in.

"We _both_ did it, sort of," he explained lamely.

She worked that over, tried to see where it fit in with the rest of his information.  When Ron opened his mouth to speak again, Hermione headed him off.  "Thanks.  This can't have been easy for you."

"_Thanks_?" Ron spluttered.  "He's been lying about my sister since she went missing, and he _still_ hasn't explained –"

"The lie hasn't affected the outcome of the investigation," Hermione said, "and, apparently, the information you want is classified.  We appreciate your coming by, Harry.  I'll be sure to take extra precautions when I leave the castle."

Harry frowned.  "You're not to leave the castle, even with precautions.  It's too dangerous right now.  Ron and I talked about this."

"But neither of you discussed it with me," she said blithely.  "It's nice of you to be concerned, but I'm sure I'll be fine."

Harry met Ron's eyes.  "This isn't negotiable, Hermione.  We –"

Once again, Hermione squeezed her husband's knee.  Ron looked over and met her eyes, then turned back to Harry.  "I'll talk to her.  Why don't you leave by the front hall?  Let me walk you out."

In the small entryway, Ron caught Harry's shoulder before he could leave.  "Don't think I'm going to let this drop," he murmured.  "Just because Hermione is satisfied doesn't mean I'm anywhere near.  We'll talk back at the Ministry."

Harry grimaced slightly.  "I figured."

His reluctance touched a nerve with Ron.  "If there were something important about my sister that I should know, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?"

Harry nodded, looking up to meet his friend's eyes.  "You know I would, unless it's something that's not my place to tell."

This took Ron by surprise.  He said, "If it's not your place, then whose is it?  Dumbledore's?"

Harry sighed.  "He'd like to think so, but I wouldn't ask him if I were you."  He paused, then said, "You need to talk to Hermione."

"I will."

"You need to do it _tonight_."

"I know," Ron said.  "Just give me a few minutes alone with her.  I'll meet you back at the Division.  Taliesin should have a preliminary report by now."

Harry nodded, waved to Hermione, and was gone.

As soon as the door shut, Ron whirled around and stomped back into the sitting room.  "What d'you think you're doing?  He didn't explain a _single_ thing, and you let him walk out of here –"

"He told us everything we need to know, I think," Hermione said.  "This spell, for starters.  A magical connection that's lasted so many years without losing any of its strength?  Trust me, no Hogwarts students, not even Harry and Ginny, could do something like that.  We can begin there."

"Begin where?"  Ron looked as though she'd lost her mind.

"The library, of course," Hermione said.  "You need to get back to work, so I'll go see what I can find on spells like this.  I _know_ I've read about something like it, I just can't think where."

"And you won't go outside the castle?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes.  "Not tonight, anyway.  I'll be researching.  After that…we'll talk about it later.  You need to find Ginny."

Ron walked across the room and folded her into his arms.  The top of her head fit perfectly beneath his chin.  "My parents are a mess.  Maybe you could call them through the fire tonight?"

"I will," Hermione promised, "just as soon as you leave, and I'll tell them you and Harry are doing everything you can to bring her home safely."

"Bill and Charlie are coming home."

"Good."

He pressed his lips to her forehead and murmured, "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you.  I can't understand how he's so _calm_."

Hermione shrugged.  "The two of you are different, that's all.  He's not calm, but he's keeping together well.  You really need to get to work, Ron.  I'll owl when I find something."

That was his Hermione.  Not _if_ she found something, but _when_.  He kissed her again, told her he loved her, and threw a pinch of floo powder into the fireplace.

*          *          *          *          *

Dana followed the curved hallway of the fifth floor corridor to the wall that was paneled in plain wood.  She set her teeth, told herself that it was no different from the barrier at platform nine and three quarters, and walked straight through.  Ginny paced at the other end of the room, but froze when Dana entered.  The two women stared at each other, then Ginny rushed over.  "What are you doing in here?" she demanded.  "You can't get out!"

Dana pulled the amulet from beneath her collar.  "Problem solved.  My sister loaned it to me for the night.  It works just like a mark, only not as ugly."

Ginny's mouth dropped open in wild disbelief.  "Where's mine?"

Dana looked from Ginny's outstretched hand, back to her face.  "Your what?"

"My _amulet_, Dana.  We have to hurry; they watch this room."

"It's all right," Dana said.  "My sister is on watch duty right now, and she's waiting in the woods for me to come back."

"What about the others?" Ginny asked.  Something wasn't quite right.

Dana asked, "What others?"

"The…the other _Aurors_.  You didn't come here alone."  Realization dawned.  "You _did_ come here alone.  Christ, Dana, do you have any _idea_ what – you just _strolled_ into Malfoy Manor with Delia's necklace and –"

Dana interrupted, "Are you all right?  You don't look cursed or beaten or starved or…"

"I'm fine," Ginny said.  "I can keep up with you.  Give me my amulet and we can get out of here."

"You promise you're all right?  You'd tell me if you weren't?"

Something about the situation was wasn't making any sense.  Her tone tinged with suspicion, Ginny said, "Dana, give me my amulet."

And now it came down to it.  "I only have one."

Ginny took a step back.  Her chin tilted up fractionally and she looked Dana through narrowed eyes.  "I see.  So what are you doing here, exactly, if you didn't come to get me out?"

Dana didn't have an answer.  At least, not one that Ginny would find satisfactory.

"Now that you've been here," Ginny said, "you can tell the Division exactly where in the house to find me, and that the amulet is the only way to get me out."

Still, Dana was silent.  They stared at each other, a face-off.

"I see," Ginny finally said.  "You're not going to tell them."

"I can't," Dana explained.  "It would compromise my sister.  If she went to jail because of me –"

"Your Death Eater sister is not my problem!" Ginny shouted as the threads of her control frayed.  "My _problem_, Dana, is that I'm a prisoner in Draco Malfoy's house of moral surrealism and you won't lift a finger to get me out!"

"I only have one amulet!" Dana protested.

Ginny drew herself up straighter.  The air around her shimmered with magical energy, and the room's temperature sank.  "If I wanted," Ginny said in an odd tone, "I could make you give it to me.  You'd hand it over and wave me out of the room with a smile on your face."

Dana felt a cold lick of fear at the base of her spine.  It had been a mistake to come here.  In that moment, she fully believed Ginny capable of anything.  "You wouldn't do that."

The moment passed, and Ginny sighed.  "Unfortunately for me, I'm a great fan of free will."  Her words, though benign on their surface, belied her contempt for Dana, who asked, "What do you want me to do?  What _can_ I do?  I only have one."

"And if you had two?" she asked.  "What then, Dana?"  The Auror was silent.  Ginny shook her head.  "I didn't think so."

"I can't do anything that might send Delia to jail, or make them realize that she's been meeting with me secretly," Dana explained.  "If you disappeared on her watch, they'd have no mercy.  You understand that, Gin.  Family is family."

"You can't just leave me trapped in here!"

"Like you left me?" Dana asked coolly, arching an eyebrow.  "Like you _abandoned_ me, and the rest of the world?  You have no idea what you were, Ginny, and how much we needed you to stay."

"Is _that_ what this is about?" she asked, dumbfounded.  "Some kind of twisted Slytherin revenge because I _quit my job_?  You're fucking kidding me."

Dana's eyes narrowed with resentment.  "I came here to make sure you were still alive and that you weren't being mistreated."

"You came here as a balm to your guilty conscience," Ginny hissed.  "I hope it worked.  Now get out."

"Gin –"

"I said get _out_!"  A panel on the sideboard shattered, punctuating Ginny's shout with glass raining to the floor.

Dana looked at the shards, then back to Ginny's face.  "You can't intimidate me."

"I don't want to scare you, I want you to leave."

"Fine.  I'm gone."

And then, she was.

Dana left the room and leaned against the wall, guilt washing over her in waves.  Ginny was right; she _should_ tell the Auror Division about tonight's excursion.  But Delia was all she had, even if Dana didn't agree with her choices.  It was callous of Dana think this way, but Ginny had two parents and six brothers; she could afford to lose one or two and still have a family.  If Dana lost Delia, she'd be losing everything.  Dana shook her head to clear it.  Now was not the time for her to second guess herself.  This was Death Eater headquarters, after all.  First and foremost, she had to focus on getting out in one piece.  She could be maudlin later.

On the other side of the wall, Ginny screamed an obscenity at the top of her lungs, then turned her attention to the rest of the sideboard's windowed cabinets.  As another hail of glass fell to the carpet, she made no attempt to dispel the hot fury that raged inside her mind.

She hadn't been at it for more than half an hour when Draco walked into the room and stopped short.  "What do you think you're doing?"

A hurricane shade that covered one of the wall sconces exploded, raining slivers of glass onto the floor.  "What does it look like?" Ginny asked from her seat at the table.

"It looks like you're throwing a tantrum."  As he walked over to her, his polished shoes crunched on pieces of smashed glass and porcelain.  "Why?"

"I don't explain myself to Death Eaters."  A dinner plate on the sideboard crumpled in on itself.  When the china could no longer stand the stress, it shattered.

"Are you planning on breaking everything in the room?"

"Everything breakable.  Whatever I've ruined, you can afford ten new ones."

Draco reached over to the sideboard.  "In that case, you forgot the whiskey bottle."

She looked at the crystal decanter in front of her, then pulled out the stopper and took a deep swallow.  "I think I'll keep this around for now."  As she drank, a vase burst into crystal shards.

*          *          *          *          *

Dana crept inside her flat.  She didn't turn on any lights, for fear of disturbing Mike.  She'd only made it as far as the living room, however, when a lamp flicked on.  He sat in an armchair, eyes pinning her in place.  "That's twice this week that you've snuck out after you thought I was asleep, then came back hours later.  Suppose you tell me where you've been?"

Bloody hell, he thought she was having an affair.

*          *          *          *          *

The next afternoon, forty-eight hours after Ginny's disappearance:

The senior Aurors, the elite thirteen, sat around the battered conference table.  Catherine looked through her folder of intelligence data one last time.  "A vote, then, now that we've heard from everyone.  Is there sufficient evidence to suggest that Ginny Weasley is being held at Malfoy Manor and to justify a raid to get her back?"

As they went around the table, Harry kept a mental tally.  He voted yes, as did Ron.  Both of them had argued vehemently in favor of the raid.  Still, Taliesin's final report had been anything but absolute, and many of their fellows expressed reservations about storming the home of such a politically prominent family.  Several Aurors voted against the raid.  At the end of the table, with one vote to go, it was six and six.

Dana looked at the chipped tabletop, and then raised her eyes to Harry's.  His confidence that she would vote his way was plain to see; he was already running through attack formations in his mind.  Dana thought of Ginny, and of the terrifying latent power she'd sensed the night before.  Then she thought of Delia, her twin, her other half.  And she cast her vote.  "No."

Harry blinked.  His thoughtful expression quickly gave way to shock, then anger that deepened into rage.  "No?"  The word was soft, but Dana didn't miss the threat behind it.

"There's no evidence.  We don't have proof that the Malfoys had anything to do with Ginny's disappearance.  She could be in a dozen other places.  I suggest we start assessing those as possible targets."

"She's your _friend_!" Ron exclaimed.

Catherine interjected, "The vote is over.  Malfoy Manor is safe for now.  You'll get another crack at Draco, Agent Midas."

"That's not –"  Harry sputtered, "that's not what this is about!  Ginny is _there_!  I _know_ it!"

"But can you prove it?" Catherine asked.

He was silent.

The Division Chief turned to her ranks.  "I want people around the clock on this.  We need to get her back.  The more time passes, the more likely it is that they've broken her.  If that happens, a lot of people are going to die."

*          *          *          *          *

Harry caught Dana's elbow as she walked past, and dragged her into his office.  Sparks of anger snapped in his emerald eyes.  He looked more dangerous than Dana had ever seen him.  "Explain."  One word.  A command.  He was visibly restraining himself from hitting her.

"There's no concrete evidence," Dana said for the second time that afternoon.  "I'm not about to vote to authorize a raid without proof."

"I gave you proof."  Every word was pushed out through clenched teeth.  An indefinable aura of power surrounded him; for good reason was he called one of the strongest wizards of their time.

"I'm supposed to believe that Malfoy sat in this office and told you he had her locked in a room?  How gullible do you think I am?"

Harry's eyes widened.  "A room?" he said hoarsely.

Dana frowned.  "What?"

"You said a room.  Not a cell, a room."

"That's what you told us –"

"No I didn't." – Dana was increasingly sure she wasn't going to come out of this conversation in one piece – "I never specified anything of the kind."  His words were clipped.  He was barely holding his fury in check.  "How did you know she was being held in a room, Dana?"

When she didn't reply, Harry grabbed her shoulders with force enough to bruise and shouted full in her face, "_How did you know?  Where were you last night_?"

"Last night?" she asked, maintaining her façade till the end.

"Taliesin's had your flat watched, along with the Burrow, in case they tried to hurt Mike for being Jezebel's best friend.  Last night, you snuck out at midnight and came back nearly two hours later."

"I –"

"I have the Surveillance report, Dana!  No one followed you because it's Mike they were watching, but they wrote down all comings and goings.  You left in the middle of the night.  You went to the Manor."  He was putting the pieces together.

 "Of course I didn't," Dana said, feigning outrage.

"And you saw her.  Otherwise how would you have known that she was in a room upstairs, instead of a cell in the dungeon?  You _saw_ her, and you probably even _spoke_ to her, and still you did this.  For what, Dana?  What's so important that you would stab your friend in the back and –"

Dana watched his face as the last puzzle piece fell into place.  "I don't know what you're talking about.  I didn't see Ginny.  I went for a walk."

"You're lying."

"Why would I _visit_ Malfoy Manor?  Think about it, Harry."

"I have.  You sold Ginny out for a Death Eater."  His hands were still digging painfully into her skin, but his face was eerily calm.  

"You're being stupid," she protested.  "Why would I choose a _Death Eater_ over –"

"You would in a heartbeat," Harry interrupted, "if the Death Eater was your twin."

All Dana's life, whenever she tried to mask her thoughts, there had been a split-second before her mask slid into place in which she gave herself away.  This time was no different.  "My twin?" she asked, a lame recovery if there ever was one.

"Do you have any _idea_ what you've done?"  Harry was shouting again; his face twisted with wrath.

"You and I both know she's been _obliviated_," Dana said.  "The story you fed Catherine about her remembering everything is a lie.  They could do a _Priori Incantatum_ on my wand to prove it; I did the memory charm."

"It didn't work, Dana."  He shook her once, hard.  "Your stupid charm didn't do a goddamned thing to her memory because she's the _Pendragon_, and you've just given her to Draco Malfoy, gift wrapped, on a silver platter!"

Dana's mind latched on the word Pendragon; she didn't hear anything after that.  It swirled around her consciousness – _Pendragon_ – and then, something inside of her shattered.  Dana looked up at Harry.  Her grin stopped his rant short.  Through her giggles, she exclaimed, "I was almost fooled!  I mean, sure, I ran across references to the legend while Dee and I did our research. For a moment you really had me going! Have you ever thought about acting? That was brilliant, Gin."

"Gin?" Harry demanded.  "What?"

Instead of answering, she pitched forward into his arms, out cold.

*          *          *          *          *

Evening:

Ginny was the first thing Delia saw when she entered the room with the dinner tray.  The prisoner leaned against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed across her chest.  "I see you've left off your pacing for the evening," Delia said as she set the tray on the table.

Ginny tilted her head and gave a faint smile.  "I'm just having a bit of a rest is all.  I'll take it up again after I've eaten."

Delia's expression was disgruntled.  "You only do it because you know he assigned me to watch you."

Ginny shoved away from the bed and started towards the table.  "Watch me?  Spy on me is more like.  Lucky for my sanity, I'm not here to entertain you."  She surveyed the tray of food and picked up a fork.  "Where is he?"

"There was a sacrifice tonight.  They're all there at the request of the Dark Lord."

"Anyone I know?"  Ginny's tone was nonchalant; her face still wore that slightly unsettling half smile.

Delia shook her head.  "A Muggle they took a few days ago."

Without sitting, Ginny speared a carrot and ate it.  She made a face and motioned with the fork.  "It needs salt.  Would you mind?"

Delia rolled her eyes and started towards the sideboard.  No sooner had she turned her back than Ginny launched herself across the room.  The two women fell in a tangle of limbs, and as they went down Delia struck her forehead against an end table with a sickening crack.  The last thing she was aware of before she lost consciousness was the chain of her amulet breaking as Ginny tore it from her neck.

*          *          *          *          *

Ginny stole quietly through the halls of the manor.  Tonight, Death Eaters were scarce; apparently, Voldemort _had_ requested the presence of all of them.  The building seemed deserted.  She called up Draco's mental map of his home; she couldn't waste time searching for exits.  After twenty minutes she located an outside door and gingerly pushed it open, silently thanking the diligent house elves who kept the hinges well oiled.  She slipped outside and pushed the door closed, then froze.

Ginny heard voices approaching; the dark ritual must have finished and now they were returning to headquarters.  Ginny looked around frantically; there were no convenient hiding places.  She would have to count on the cover of darkness to keep her concealed.  Silently, Ginny darted around the corner of the house and pressed her back up against the stone wall.  She was sure they'd be able to hear the frantic heartbeat that pounded in her ears.

The crowd of Death Eaters passed within ten feet of her.  They were all hooded and masked; some had slick, shiny stains down the fronts of their robes.  After a moment's confusion, Ginny came to the sickening realization that it was blood.  None of the dark wizards glanced her way; their work was done for the night and there was no reason for them to get suspicious and investigate around corners when a nice, hot meal awaited them in the Malfoy dining room.

When the last one entered the house and pulled the door shut, Ginny released the breath she had been holding and took a moment to scan the grounds of the manor.  The place was covered with anti-apparition wards, and there was no way she'd be able to break through them without first knowing the specific spells Lucius had used to guard against intruders.  There was nothing for it; Ginny would have to get off the grounds before she could truly make her escape.

She quickly evaluated her options.  The way across the lawns was faster, but she would be in the open and readily visible to anyone who chanced to look out a window.  She would be safer if she went through the woods, although the path was longer.  Ginny hesitated a moment, and then took off through the Malfoy family forest.

She dodged boughs and tree trunks, devoting all her instincts to finding the shortest way through the woods.  Branches tore at her sleeves and hair and scratched across her face, but she ignored it all.  Ginny pushed her way through a particularly think clump of trunks and froze once she was on the other side.  Draco had just stepped into her line of sight; he walked towards the manor with a purposeful stride as he fastened the silver clasps on his cloak.  His Death Eater hood and mask were slung over his arm.

Before Ginny could hide, he looked up and stopped short, obviously just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.  His mouth dropped open slightly and, fastenings forgotten, his cloak slipped off his shoulders and fell to the ground.

Draco's mouth tightened as he tossed a quick glance over his shoulder and then turned back to her.  "I'm not even going to _ask_ how you got out here."  He strode through the trees to her, his blond hair glinting in the faint gray starlight.  "But you're going back _now_."  He was furious; but the rolling thunder clouds gathering in his eyes were the only visual evidence of the anger she felt lurking under the surface of his calm façade.

"Like hell I am," she answered, backing away as he neared.

"Where are you going to run to, Virginia?"  His voice was harsh.  "There's nowhere you can hide from me.  I'll find you wherever you go.  Even if you moved into Dumbledore's own bloody office you think I wouldn't find a way to bring you back here?"  His eyes never left hers as he methodically stalked her through the trees.

Ginny backed into a trunk, and she quickly darted around the other side.  He followed, his features set in an expression of fierce determination.

"Like hell I'm going back with you," Ginny repeated. 

Draco shot another glance over his shoulder and Ginny seized the opportunity of his momentary distraction and ran.  She only got a few steps, though, before his hand closed around her wrist.  He nearly yanked her arm out of joint as he pulled her up against him; his chest pressed into her back and his free hand snaked out and caught hold of her other wrist before she could lash out at him.  He squeezed his arms around her struggling body and whispered grimly in her ear, "Never underestimate the reflexes of a former Seeker."  He spun her around and slammed her against a tree hard enough to momentarily stun her.  His body pressed hers tightly to the rough bark, leaving her no room to strike as his arms pinned hers to her sides.  Although given room to maneuver she was a much more dangerous fighter than he, in such close quarters sheer strength was all that mattered and he had it in spades.  Once more he looked over his shoulder and then turned back to her, his face set in an odd combination of resolve and anticipation, and slammed his mouth onto hers.

At the force of his kiss, Ginny's head flew back and struck the tree.  She saw stars, and could only manage a sound of outraged pain.  She tried to turn away from the assault, but his mouth followed hers.  She felt a scream of panic gathering in her throat.

_Don't you dare_, he said through their link.  His voice was stern, demanding, and as relentless as his kiss.  _I swear to God, Ginny, if you scream I'll put you on bread and water for a month_.

She intensified her struggles.  _Let me go!_ she cried into his mind.

_Not a chance.  Did you think we were alone out here?_

This gave her pause.  _We're not?_

Neither of them had closed their eyes.  They stood, bodies pressed together, lips fused, gazes locked.  _Flint and Crabbe stayed behind to help me clean up, and they're coming this way.  If they see that you escaped, they'll put two and two together and realize I didn't really give you that love potion._

_So?_ she asked.

_So!  They'll wonder why I lied about it, which will lead to them wondering about other things.  They'll start to ask questions and eventually the plan will be exposed_.  His eyes bored into hers, pinning her against the tree as effectively as his body did.

He heard her mocking laughter in his mind.  _What are they going to do, kill me?_

_No_, he said, _but they very well might kill me_.

Ginny glanced then to her right.  Sure enough, she heard the crack of sticks and twigs underfoot, accompanied by voices.  Her eyes flew back to his.  _If your plan were ever found out, would they really kill you?  They're your friends_.

_They might be_, Draco answered, _but there's a reason I didn't recruit them.  Their loyalty to Voldemort is absolute.  Would they kill me if they found out I was planning to betray him?  Absolutely._

_Dammit! _ She might not like it, but the importance of keeping him alive trumped her escape.

_Just kiss me_, he ordered.  _Like you mean it.  And then follow my lead._

_What are you going to do?_

_I'll make it up as I go along_, he said, removing his hands from her wrists and wrapping his arms around her.  Still, he didn't close his eyes.  Ginny remembered something Shannon always said: never trust a man who kisses with his eyes open.

_Ginny!_  He was exasperated.  _Are you this cardboard when you're with Potter?_

_What?_

_Remember you're under a love potion.  Like you mean it, all right?_

With that, Draco flicked his tongue out and traced the seam of her lips.  Valiantly tamping down her revulsion, Ginny parted her lips and allowed Draco to deepen the kiss.  Her palms stroked up his stomach to his chest and she clutched handfuls of his black shirt in her fists.

Draco had to hand it to Ginny; she was one hell of an actress.  She sank into him with closed eyes and returned his kiss with intoxicating abandon.  Just as he began to forget everything but the woman in his arms, Flint and Crabbe blundered into his line of sight.

Draco glanced at his fellow Death Eaters and then slowly ended the kiss.  The brief look he gave her spoke volumes.  _Behave yourself or I'm dead_.  He put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the spot where his neck met his shoulder to keep them from recognizing her.

"I think you took a wrong turn, boys."  Draco's voice was the essence of aristocratic aloofness, but Ginny could feel his heart hammering inside his chest.

"What's she doing out here?" Crabbe asked.

Draco shrugged.  "What can I say?  She can't get enough of me."

"What if she saw something?" Crabbe asked.

Draco arched an eyebrow and gave the junior Death Eater a look of warning.  "She didn't," he said coolly.

"But what if she did?" Crabbe insisted.

"Even _if_ she did, her mind is so far gone from the potion that she wouldn't have known what she was looking at."  He traced his finger lazily down the side of Ginny's neck in a proprietary gesture.  "I'm afraid Agent Jezebel is only good for one thing anymore."  Draco grunted in surprise.

"What was that?" Crabbe asked suspiciously.

Draco chuckled.  "She bit me."

"We'll just leave you two alone, shall we?" Flint said with a wink at Draco.  "Come on, Crabbe."

"But what about—"

"Come _on_, Crabbe."  Flint took the younger man by the arm and pulled him away from the couple who leaned against the tree.

Draco released his grip on her hair and leaned his head back so he could look in her face.  _Was the bite really necessary?_

Her eyes blazed.  _I'm afraid my mind is too far gone to answer your stupid questions_.  

She braced her palms against his chest to push him away and he grasped her wrists.  _Easy_, he said.  _They're not out of sight yet._  He once again lowered his mouth to hers, but the unyielding harshness from the last kiss was replaced with gentle tenderness.  His thumbs stroked over her wrists, easing the pain from when he had grabbed her before.  Now when she turned her head away from his mouth he dotted little, fluttering bites over her jawbone, slowly working his way to her ear.  When his lips fastened onto her pulse point, she gasped and turned her head back towards him, breaking the contact.  He smiled down at her, and then gently caught her lower lip between his teeth.  _Come on, Ginny.  They could turn around at any moment.  Just relax and let me take care of everything._

Because there was nothing else she could do if she wanted to keep him alive, Ginny obeyed.  She wound her arms around his neck and returned his kiss without struggling.  _You'd better appreciate this_, she said to him.

_Oh, believe me, I do,_ he replied.  _You're making quite a noble sacrifice, aren't you?  No doubt Potter would be proud_.  He wound his arms around her, held her against his chest, and let himself drown in her.  In that moment, he wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted.  She was beautiful and sexy as hell, and he wasn't likely to get another chance, after all.

Seemingly from far away, Ginny heard a soft moan and realized with horror that it had come from her.  She abruptly broke their kiss and looked up at him, fear and confusion playing across her features.  "Let me go," she whispered.

He couldn't.  Draco kept his eyes were half closed, giving him a deceptively lazy air.  He threaded his fingers through her hair.  "No," he said softly.  "What I would like to know is how you managed to get out of your room."  She didn't answer and he smiled.  "Forget I asked.  You'll never tell, will you?"  He ducked his head down and traced a line of soft kisses down her neck.  "Let's talk, then, about that very interesting noise you made just now."  She pushed against his chest, but he didn't budge.  "Were you really trying to escape, Ginny?  Or did you come out here looking for me?"

"Of course not," she whispered desperately.  His mouth had abandoned her neck and was now sipping along her collarbone.

_No?_  Damn him, he actually sounded amused.  _Then prove it_.  His lips brushed softly across hers then curved into a smile.

"Do you honestly think I would've gone through all the trouble of breaking out just so I be alone with you in the woods?"

Draco shifted his attention to her earlobe, catching it between his lips and sucking gently.  _I haven't seen anything to prove otherwise_.

"What kind of monster do you think I am?" she whispered.

He froze, and then pulled back slightly to meet her eyes.  "I beg your pardon?"

"You've just participated in a _human sacrifice_, and you think I would _ever_ come to you willingly?  That I would _ever –_"

"Is that what you think then?"  His face had turned to granite; the teasing look in his eyes vanished as though it had never been.  "You think I _enjoyed_ what happened tonight?  You think I don't realize that they're all insane, and Voldemort most of all?  I'm nothing like the rest of them, and you know it."

"That mark on your arm says otherwise," Ginny retorted.  She wanted to anger him, to turn him from the Draco whose kisses set her on fire back to the Draco she knew and hated, and she saw with satisfaction that she had succeeded.

"Not two minutes ago you were hanging 'round my neck and kissing me like there was no one else in the world."  His voice dripped with ice.  "Maybe Potter can't fill all your needs, hm?"

Ginny snarled, "I hate you."

"Do you?  That certainly makes things more…interesting."  His gaze turned predatory, and he grasped her chin with his palm and forced her to meet his eyes.  Ginny tried to struggle, but there was nowhere for her to go.  She was sandwiched between his body and the tree, and Draco wasn't about to release her.  His smile was fiendish as he murmured silkily, "You do impeach your modesty too much, to commit yourself into the hands of one who loves you not," he lowered his mouth to just a few inches from hers.  "To trust the opportunity of night," now his lips were only a breath away, "and the ill council of a desert place—"

His lips descended on hers.  Ginny squirmed away from their touch and then slammed her forehead into his mouth as hard as she could.  When he pulled back in pain, she shoved hard against his chest and ran for all she was worth.  Draco swore roundly and chased after her.  She managed to get nearly thirty yards before he caught hold of her wrist, but she immediately reeled around and swung with her free hand.  The punch landed solidly across his jaw, but he didn't release his grip on her.  Ginny launched herself at Draco, and when the full weight of her body slammed into him, he tripped backwards and fell to the ground.  She went down on top of him and pulled the amulet from her pocket, holding the sharp edge to his throat.  "Your virtue is my privilege," she hissed.

To her surprise, she felt Draco's eyes glowed with a wry respect.  "Sarcasm is an unbecoming trait in a woman."  A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.  "Still, it was nicely done, and I'm impressed that you know _Midsummer Night's Dream_ as thoroughly as you know _Macbeth_."  She didn't budge.  "Come on, Ginny," he said.  "You're not fooling anyone.  We both know that you're not going to hurt me."

She hesitated a moment too long, and he swung his legs around to trap hers and flung her over.  Now he was on top, and she was the one pressed into the ground.  He anchored her wrists above her head and tried to ignore the fire that streaked through his body in all the places it touched hers.  "So, now that you're well and truly trapped, what am I going to do with you?"  She glared, and his expression turned smug.  "No suggestions?" he asked.  "No requests?"

"Let me go," she pleaded, even though she hated herself for doing so.

"I can't."

_Please_.

"Your power is necessary for my plan.  I need you."

"I don't care."

"No, of course you don't," he answered.  "You just now told me you hated me, didn't you?  It's a good thing that I realize you didn't mean it, because if –"

"Who said I didn't mean it?"

He sighed.  "You're angry with yourself for responding to me the way you did," he explained.  "I can certainly understand that, and I even understand your need to punish me for making you feel the things you felt.  Really, though, I have to ask you to reconsider.  You're hurting yourself just as much as me by denying it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't."  He didn't attempt to hide the heat in his voice, since he could feel it burning inside of her too.  "Just like you didn't know that I would be out here tonight."

"I didn't," she insisted, but there was no force behind her words.  Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her lips parted slightly.

Draco nearly shouted in triumph.  He had received that look enough times to know exactly what it meant.  Without hesitating, he claimed her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.  He let his desire flow through the link; he knew she felt it.  He moaned when she slid her feet up his body and wrapped her legs around his waist.  He released her wrists so that his hands could explore her body, and she tangled her fingers in his hair.   Not breaking their kiss, he propped himself up on his elbows and traced his fingers over the front of her shirt.  He had only opened two buttons when she slid her leg down his side and then crashed her knee up into his groin.  He doubled up in pain and Ginny drove her elbow into the side of his face, rolled from beneath him, and ran.

He lay on the ground, gasping in agony, and realized that she was only a few yards from the edge of the woods.  He jumped to his feet and, through no small effort, gave chase.  He lunged at her from behind and brought her crashing face-first to the forest floor.  Draco flipped her over and, without hesitating, pulled a vial from his pocket and shoved it into her mouth.  She bit down hard on his hand, and the container vanished on contact with her teeth.  Draught of Living Death spilled into her mouth.  Ginny coughed and tried to spit the potion out, but she had already swallowed enough of it.

"Clever girl," Draco choked out, admiring her ingenuity in spite of himself.  His chest heaved with pain, exertion, and the remnants of passion, and he didn't move from his place on top of her.  "You would've made a great Slytherin."

She gasped weakly.  "I can not _believe_ you carry that stuff around."

"All's fair in love and war."  His eyes turned grim.  "It was for the ritual tonight.  In case he needed to be subdued."  Ginny's eyes had taken on a slightly glazed expression, but he still understood the question in them.  "We didn't need it.  He was unconscious the whole time."  Draco pulled himself up and sat beside her prone form.

Shakily, Ginny struggled to her knees and then, wrapping her arms around a tree trunk, pulled herself to a standing position.  Draco idly wondered how long the potion took to affect someone with power as strong as hers.  Still, he didn't move from his place on the ground.  Ginny managed to stagger several steps before she stumbled to her knees, and then collapsed.

Draco rubbed his sore jaw as he crawled over to her.  She was out cold.  He sat on the ground for a long time, waiting for the painful throb in his lower body to fade and the fire in his blood to cool.  When he felt he could touch her without losing control, he picked her up and started the long walk back to the mansion.

*          *          *          *          *

Draco managed to avoid his fellow Death Eaters without much trouble; they were all firmly ensconced in the dining room.  No doubt Crabbe and Flint had made his excuses.  No one would expect him tonight.  He turned down the hall that housed her room and heard a startled, high-pitched gasp.  Draco looked up in surprise and noticed one of the house elves rushing toward him.

"Oh, Master Draco!  You are a mess!"

If Ginny's appearance was anything to go by, he was in a right state indeed.  Draco pressed against the wall and it dissolved into a doorway.  He stepped into Ginny's room, dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, and untwisted the amulet from her fingers.  Then, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror.  His hair was tangled with bits of leaves and twigs, his clothes were torn, and his face was streaked with dirt.  His lip was beginning to swell, and he had two good-sized bruises developing where she had hit him.  He turned to the elf, inclined his head toward Ginny, and said, "Fix her up, will you?  She's filthy."

"Yes sir," the elf replied.  "But what about you, sir?"

Draco started for the whisky decanter on the sideboard and nearly tripped over the unconscious body of Delia, sprawled on the floor.  His expression darkened as he pulled out his wand, cleared the goose egg from her forehead, and woke her up.  She looked at him, dazed, and then her memories came flooding back.  "Oh, God, Draco!  I'm so sorry!  We have to hurry; she can't have gone far."

He stood and started toward the door, the alcohol forgotten.  "Never mind," he answered coldly.  "I took care of it myself."  He pushed past the house elf and the door dissolved back into the wall as Delia followed him.

Draco didn't spare her a glance as he paced through the halls of the manor.  His strides were so long, Delia had to jog to keep up.  "I was getting her some salt –" she began.

Draco stopped short and gave her an incredulous look.  "You're telling me you actually turned your back to her!"

"She's been docile enough," Delia protested.

Draco gave a humorless laugh and probed the bruise on his jaw.  "She's half wild," he said, and resumed his walk.

"There's been no indication that she's dangerous until now," Delia defended herself.

Draco didn't even spare her a glance.  "No indication that she's dangerous?  She's Agent fucking Jezebel.  She's the most dangerous person either of us has ever met and you were _stupid _enough to turn your back to her."

"Draco!" Delia pleaded.  "Draco, I didn't think--"

"No, you didn't," he interrupted, grabbing her roughly.  "Lucky for you, I was able to fix your mistake quickly before the others noticed anything wrong."  He began dragging her down the hallway.

"Draco?" Delia asked, stumbling.  "What are you doing?"  She had never seen him look so cold.

"Thanks to her I now have a problem," he said as he opened the door to his room and pushed her in.  "So you're going to help me take care of it."  As his mouth came down on hers with a bruising force, she realized that he was in a murderous rage and full to the brim with lust for his untouchable prisoner.  Delia braced herself.  Hopefully he wouldn't go too far.

*          *          *          *          *

Mike stormed through the halls of St. Mungo's, fixing on the person he most wanted to see.  He grabbed Harry's collar and shoved him up against the wall.  "What the hell did you do to her?"

Harry rested his palms on Mike's chest and shoved as hard as he could, sending the shorter man staggering back several paces.  "The mediwizards say she was under a strong memory charm."

Mike snarled, "You had something to do with it.  I know you did."

"I broke the charm," Harry acknowledged.  "I didn't know it was there.  I'm as surprised as anyone.  She'll be all right, though.  They have her sedated."

"Son of a bitch!" Mike cursed.  "Why can't you just _leave me alone_?  You put my girlfriend in the _hospital_, and all you can say is that you're _surprised_?"

"Your girlfriend," Harry growled, "chose her Death Eater sister over Ginny's safety."  At this moment, all he cared about was putting Mike in his place.  "Your _girlfriend_ voted not to raid Malfoy Manor and rescue your _best friend_, because her _evil twin_ might have to actually _pay_ for the crimes she's committed."

Mike looked horrified.  "Delia Silvermoon?  A Death Eater?"

Harry just glared.

"Dana wouldn't do that," Mike insisted.

Harry motioned towards the closed door at the end of the hall.  "Ask her yourself.  Ask her to tell you where she was last night when she snuck out."

"She told me she went for a walk," Mike said, more to himself than anything.

Harry snorted with scornful laughter.  "Women have been telling that lie to their husbands for centuries, and Michael Fletcher, Ravenclaw genius, is the first man to actually believe it."

"Fuck you, Potter."

"Go ask her to tell you what she did," Harry challenged.  "I'm looking forward to hearing you say, 'You were right, Harry, and I was wrong.  Dana is a bitch, and a traitor.' "

Mike balled up his fist and let it fly.  Harry had excellent reflexes, but after all these years of nonviolence, he wasn't expecting the Ravenclaw to strike him.  He managed to dodge the brunt of the blow, but it still caught his jaw at an unpleasant angle, snapping his head to the side.  Harry did what he'd wanted to do since he was seventeen years old: he swung, and his punch landed across Mike's cheek with a satisfying crunch.  Before the fight could progress, two burly male nurses stepped between them.  Harry didn't struggle, but one of them had to forcibly hold Mike back.  "You ask her," Harry said as the younger man flailed.  "I'm telling the truth.  And get someone to fix your face while you're here."  He turned and walked down the hall, and didn't give Mike the satisfaction of looking back.

*          *          *          *          *

Ginny stirred, then opened her eyes.  Draco's face was the first thing she saw.  He was lounging in a chair beside her bed, watching her through languorous, half-closed eyes.  Gone was the simmering rage she'd provoked in the forest.  His cool façade was back.  She wondered why he bothered with the act.  She could sense his spirit, the Draco beneath the mask.  He was trembling inside, shaking from the effort it took to stay calm despite the link, at what she made him feel, at the way her soul had awakened parts of his that he'd always kept carefully buried.  She was the spark that Voldemort had anticipated, the one that would set Draco on fire.

"You're awake," he said, his tone oddly subdued.  That terrible drawl was nowhere in evidence.

She sat up slowly and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead.  "This is one for the loss column."

Draco shook his head, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.  "I'm afraid so.  But it was a good try, even if it did almost get me killed, and I respect you all the more for it."

Ginny saw with surprise that he was being sincere.  She turned on the bed, shifted to face him.  They held each other's eyes for a silent moment.  Finally, Ginny murmured, "You owe Delia an apology."

"Why?"  His smile vanished and the familiar harshness tinged his expression.  "Sometimes people like it rough.  I didn't force her into anything."

"No," Ginny acknowledged, "you didn't.  But you used her, and this isn't the first time."

"I haven't done anything that she hasn't consented to," he said.  "Why would she let me use her?"

Ginny shrugged.  "You'll have to ask her."  She turned her face away from Draco's and leaned back against the headboard with a sigh.

He took in her profile – the stubborn chin, the nose that turned up slightly at the end, the tousled red hair, shot through with strands of gold, her pale skin.  "The elves did a good job healing your face."

"My face?" she asked without looking at him.  "What was wrong with my face?"

He shifted from his chair to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, facing her.  "You had bruises here," he brushed his fingertips over her cheek, "and here," her jaw, "and here," he ran his thumb over her lower lip.  Ginny shivered, but didn't give him the satisfaction of pulling away.  In actual fact, that would've given him very little satisfaction indeed.  He didn't know why he felt this sudden compulsion, to touch her, to hear her voice, to look at her as though she were an oasis and he was dying of thirst.  He wanted to get as far away from her as possible.  He wanted to crawl inside her skin, to grab on and never let go.  She was a woman he hated and a goddess he worshipped, and ever moment he spent in her company left him drained and shaken from staving off the loss of control he knew was imminent.

"Why were you bruised, Ginny?" he continued in that same, soft voice.  "I didn't lay a hand on you.  How did you get bruises in the places that _you_ hit _me_?"

She looked down at her lap.  She couldn't – _couldn't_ – look into those eyes and see them reflecting the same turbulence she felt.  "The link."

"Do you and Potter have this problem?  Both of you get injuries incurred by one?"

She shook her head and whispered, "No."

"Why not?"

Ginny was silent for a long time.  Just when he was about to repeat his question, she took a deep, shuddering breath and spoke.  "My link with him is contained.  I built a wall.  Ours is still open."

Draco took a moment to process that.  "This is why I…I mean, we're…"

"We're bleeding into each other," Ginny said, her voice a little stronger now, her tone more firm.

"Can you make it stop?"

Finally, she looked up at him.  "I _can_.  But I won't.  Not until you let me go."

"I can't."  He forced himself to stay calm.  If he raised his voice, if he allowed even one small crack in his armor of control, he'd lay hands on her and…he didn't want to think about it.  He was barely holding it together as it was.  His tone was modulated as he continued, "Not until you promise to support my cause."

"Then we're at a stalemate."  Her eyes had a look to them, determined and cool.  Draco had a sudden, eerie feeling that he was looking at himself, that this was the part of him she carried inside talking rather than Ginny herself.

"Can we negotiate?" he asked.

"No," she said flatly.  "Let me go, and I'll wall up the link.  Those are my terms."

"God dammit!" he exclaimed.  "This is _torture_."  He looked truly desperate.  "I want –"  He paused and licked his dry lips, then asked, "Is this how it was with you and Potter?"

"No.  My power is stronger now, though, than it was six years ago."

"Ginny."  Her name was nothing more than a whisper as it left his lips, an almost inaudible plea.  He felt like he was going mad, like the wildness she provoked would scorch him from the inside out.

"What happened tonight?" Ginny asked.  "Who is he sacrificing to, Draco?  What's going on?"

He drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.  "You mean you don't know?"

Mute, Ginny shook her head.

"He found some scrolls years ago, did terrible dark magic to get them.  Spells I don't even want to know."

"Too dark for a Malfoy?" she asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

"Hard to believe, I know.  The scrolls told how to gain great power, power beyond any mortal.  Except for…"

"The Pendragon."

"The Pendragon."  He nodded in confirmation, then continued; "The blood spilled for the goddess bolsters her strength in the Otherworld.  Blood sacrifices are always the most effective kind."

"Which goddess?"  Her heart beat a staccato rhythm against her ribs as she waited for his answer.

"It's Badb, Gin."

She was stunned, actually covered her mouth with her hand in shock.  Mórrígan's _sister_ was the one who'd risen up against her?

"She's given him a ring," Draco said.  "It's some kind of key to power, but he hasn't unlocked it yet.  That's why he needs you."

"Is he _insane_?"

He laughed softly, a depreciating, tired sound.  "Yes, Ginny, Voldemort is insane.  He's completely mad.  Is this news to you?"

She shook her head.

"He can't see that he's in over his head.  By accepting the ring, he's opened a door to this world and right now he's a strong enough wizard to keep the goddess from coming in, but the more he sacrifices to her the stronger she gets and –"

"You have to let me go," Ginny interrupted.  "I can't stay here, not now.  They need me out there!"

"You wouldn't last ten minutes," he snapped.  A fissure streaked through his control; he ignored it.  "Voldemort _will_ find you.  Don't think for a second that he won't."

"_You have to let me go_!"

"_It's not safe_!"

She shook her head, too stubborn to care that they were both close to the breaking point.  "You're only saying that because of the link!"  Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed.  "You're too psychotically overprotective to see that _I can't be here_!  I _need_ to get out!  I need –"

And, at that moment, Draco's control snapped.  His hand snaked out and grabbed the back of her neck; he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his.  Anything to quiet the roaring in his head…

She brought her hand to his, grabbed his wrist, but didn't pull away.  Emotions had been riding too high all night; they were both half-mad.  He pushed her back until they both sprawled across the bed, limbs tangled.  They devoured each other, ravenous and ruthless.  They bit and clawed, pressed their lips together hard enough to bruise.  He sank his teeth into her shoulder; she raked her nails down his back.  Several hungry minutes later, Draco broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers.  His breath was rapid, panting, as he gasped, "Ask me to stay the night."

Ginny dragged her eyes open.  "What?"

He kissed her again, until they were both near to mindless.  There was nothing gentle or tender about it; it was wild, animal, instinctive, and passionate.  It seemed a contest: which of them could inflict the most pain.  She bit his lip until she tasted blood.  He gripped her hips tightly enough to leave finger-shaped bruises.  Once again, he said, "Ask me to stay the night."

She couldn't catch onto a thought.  "Um –" she whispered, warm breath against his mouth.

"Ask me."  He took one of her hands in his and brought it to his chest.  Through the fabric of his shirt, Ginny could feel his heart pounding.  Or maybe it was hers.  She could hardly tell anymore.  They were both shaking.

She gathered all her mental control and, through a superhuman effort, said, "I love Harry."

Draco didn't move his hand from her heart.  He shook his head and kissed her once more, the contact achingly brief, even though he wanted to devour her.  "He'll never have to know."

"I'd know."  Still, she didn't pull away.  They lay there, forehead to forehead.  He held her wrist shackled in his grip and she felt his heart; they watched each other through eyes that were wary, combative, and hazy with passion.  "I'd know," Ginny repeated, more to remind herself, since she knew he'd heard her the first time.  Then, she gathered her strength and told him, "You have to go."

"No.  You have to close off the link."  He couldn't tolerate this loss of control.  He abhorred it in others; it was terrifying to feel it in himself.

"Not until you let me out of here."  It was the one thing that gave her power over him, her one advantage.  She couldn't give it up.

His mouth was close…so close…Ginny whispered, "You have to go."  It took every bit of willpower she possessed to pull her hand from his chest.  He tried to hold her beneath him, but she squirmed away.  "We can't.  It'll only make it worse."  She remembered how her connection with Harry had deepened after they'd made love.  Considering their current mental state, sex with Draco would probably drive them both mad.  They'd be lost in each other forever, and never be able to untangle who was who.

His laugh was harsh as he rolled onto his side to look at her.  "It can't get any worse."

"It can.  And if you don't leave right now, it will."

He didn't move.

"Trust me," she said, desperate.  The last thing she wanted to do was to betray Harry, which meant she had to get Draco out of this room.

He laid there for an endless minute, then rolled to the edge of the bed, stood, and strode through the wall.  He didn't look back.  If he had, he wouldn't have been able to leave.  And she wouldn't have been able to let him go.

The panel dissolved as he walked through, and reconstituted the moment he was in the hall. Draco leaned back against it, eyes closed, and shuddered.  She'd given him an ultimatum, but he'd come too far, had planned too long to just give in.  He'd last as long as she did, or until one of them went mad.

"Brilliant!  Bloody brilliant!"

Draco looked up and saw Blaise jogging down the hall, a huge grin on his face.  Draco asked, "What was brilliant?"  He forced his face into a neutral expression and pushed away from the wall, stood up straight.

"Trying to get her into bed, that's what," Blaise said.  "I was watching through the mirror.  It's a perfect plan to drive Potter and her apart.  Why didn't you tell me this is what you were going to do?"

Draco thanked every god in the pantheon that his followers thought he'd been acting.  If they ever suspected for a moment that he'd been sincere, that he and Ginny were caught in a magical web with no escape without surrender, and neither one was going to give in…it didn't bear thinking about.  Draco schooled his features into a mask of arrogance and said, "I give her a week."

Blaise nodded, thoughtful.  "Fifty Galleons?"

Draco made himself grin.  "It's a bet."  They shook on it, and if Blaise noticed that Draco's palm was on the damp side, he didn't say anything.

Draco turned and took off down the hall, and Blaise called after him, "Where are you going?"

"To find Delia," Draco called over his shoulder, the smile gone from his face.

"Again?" Blaise asked, confused.  "Didn't you two just –"

"Does _everyone_ know my business?" Draco exploded, whirling around to face his friend.

Blaise was taken aback.  "It's hard to keep a secret from this group of people; you know that.  It's just that you and Delia…I mean, you two…"

He was using her and, goddess help him, for the first time in his life, Draco felt guilty.  Delia deserved better than this.  _Ginny, what the hell are you doing to me_?  He sent the thought through the link.

Her answer was wry, but tinged with exhaustion.  _We human beings call it a conscience.  You owe her an apology_.

He knew she was right.  _If I apologize, will this feeling go away_?

Draco felt a burning course down his throat to his stomach, and knew Ginny had just downed a large swallow of Firewhiskey.  _There's some liquid courage.  Go do it before you lose your nerve_.

"Hey," Blaise said, "are you all right?"

Draco looked at his friend, surprised, as though he'd momentarily forgotten Blaise's presence.  "I'm fine."

"You have one week," Blaise said with a grin.  "Don't forget."

"A Malfoy never loses a bet," Draco replied.  He turned on his heel and walked away without another word.  Ginny was already on her second glass of whisky; he needed to get this Delia conversation over with before the Pendragon got herself and, by extension, him, thoroughly drunk.

*          *          *          *          *

Draco had no idea where Delia could be.  She wasn't in her rooms, watching the spy mirror, or in the library.  As he walked through an unused parlor on his way down to the kitchens – maybe she'd wanted a snack – he heard someone say, "Good evening, Draco."

He whirled around and, to his acute surprise, there stood Cornelius Fudge, escorted by a terrified-looking Malfoy house elf.  "Minister," Draco acknowledged.  "What are you doing here?"

"He's paying us a visit, son."  Draco's father strolled into the room behind Fudge and bolted the door.  "Aren't you, Minister?"

"A visit," Fudge confirmed blandly.  The Imperius Curse was still holding strong, it was plain to see.

Draco arched an eyebrow.  "In the middle of the night, Lucius?"

"No witnesses," his father explained, and before Draco could react, his father pulled his wand and a bright green light rushed through the room on the cold wind of death.  Fudge dropped to the floor.  The house elf squeaked and dove under a dusty ottoman.

Draco's eyes widened.  "You just killed the Minister of Magic.  You just…_killed_…"

"On our lord's orders," Lucius clarified.  "He was tired of maintaining the curse.  The old man was starting to fight it, and we couldn't have that.  I'm Chairman of the Grand Council.  I'm next in line, should the Minister meet with an accident."

"I don't think shooting him in the back counts as an accident," Draco pointed out.  If Lucius became the Minister of Magic, Voldemort would be that much more entrenched in the wizarding world.  His coup just got a lot more complicated.

"It will look like a suicide," Lucius drawled.  "Our doctors at St. Mungo's will confirm it.  My swearing-in ceremony shouldn't be any more than three days from now.  Inform your mother if you get a chance; she'll probably want a new set of robes."

"Why wasn't I consulted?" Draco demanded.

His father stepped over Fudge's body, a dark lump in the nighttime shadows of the room, and leaned down to whisper in his son's ear.  "He doesn't trust you.  You've never been anything but loyal to him; see that you stay that way.  I'll not lose you over this.  You're the Malfoy heir.  You have a responsibility to the name."

Draco tilted his head to the side and regarded his father with contempt.  "If you think he trusts you any more than he trusts me, then you're deluded.  He's the Dark Lord.  He doesn't trust anyone.  But _I'm_ the one he made his second.  Not you, Lucius.  Don't ever forget that."

Behind his cool exterior, Draco's mind raced frantically.  He needed to find Blaise and Delia, and tell them that the plan needed to be accelerated.  He needed the Pendragon's support, and soon.  There was nothing else for it; he would have to force Ginny's hand. 

*          *          *          *          *

A/N part 2:  Stay tuned for chapter six, "Master and Slave."  A quest begins, true colors (and birthparents) are revealed, and Draco and Ginny play _Let's Make a Deal_.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!  G5 felt like the chapter that would never end, and you have no idea how motivating your feedback was.

Lana Potter; Kaiya Kanari; calliope [D/G enough for you? :-)]; Cygnus Crux; Saint; RadicalRavenclaw; Aurora de la Noche; jerrfarias [Nope, I'm not wiccan, and I haven't read the Sweep series either.  Is it good?]; merced [I've thought long and hard about what you said in your review, and your feedback has gone a long way towards shaping my attitude towards the treatment of D/G in this story.  Thank you]; Harry's Cutie; Unregistered 1; DRI; Athena [thanks so much for the good wishes.  I hope you liked this chapter!]; Zandith Owens; Erika Oden; Calypso; Nicola Six [how was your writing seminar?  I'd love to hear about it.]; lavender ice; Sivan; Cathy; Hummie [thank you so much for all the lovely compliments!]; Silvermane; Unregistered 2; Eleanna; Cat [Hi, Cat!  Thanks for reviewing!  Go Orange Crush!]; ProfessorJo; Joyce83; ProfessorJewels; and everyone who reviewed over email or at the HP Pendragon yahoo group.

You all are my heroes.

Drop me a line anytime at irina_author@yahoo.com.  I love hearing from you, and I always write back.

Haven't you always wanted to be a muse?  Well, now you can, at the HP Pendragon yahoo group, featuring stories by Irina and Emily (aka Sivan).  You'll never look at H/G the same way again, we guarantee.  Groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon is the place to be, and we'd love to see you there.

The chapter has now ended.


	6. Master and Slave

**Title and Chapter: **Galatea Chapter six "Master and Slave" (6/?)

**Author Name:** Irina

**Author Email:** irina@schnoogle.com

**Category:** Action/Adventure

**Keywords:** destiny, adventure, Pendragon, mythology, post-Hogwarts

**Rating:** R for violence, adult situations, and language

**Spoilers:** All four books

**Summary:** _Galatea_ is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in _The Rebirth_, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry…and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess [Sequel to _The Rebirth_.]

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Note: **Thanks to my betas for being so lovely, my muses at the HP Pendragon yahoo group for being so cool, and Emily, my co-listmom, for being one of the most stylish writers in the fandom as well as a huge inspiration to me. Check out her fic, _Love on a String Telephone_. It's great. Finally, thank you to The Elder Wyrm for his help with Hermione's characterization. Check out his fic, _At What Price_. He's a Hermione genius. Some of the words in the Hermione scenes are his, so an extra thank you to him. Danette helped to write several scenes in this chapter, so an extra thank you to her.

**Chapter Six**

**Master and Slave**

_Master and slave_

_In equal parts split down the middle_

_Drinking doubles at the bar_

_Master and slave_

_God bless you both_

_I've got two for the price of one._

--Cherry Poppin Daddies

_What the hell is going on?_ Ginny shouted. She was halfway through her glass of firewhiskey. The tumbler dangled from her fingers and the amber liquid came dangerously close to spilling out and soaking the rug, but she didn't notice. _You had better answer me soon, because I swear to you, if you don't, I'm going to –_

"What is it, Pendragon?"

The words came suddenly, loudly into Ginny's drunken mind. She stopped dead in her tracks, surprised that she'd been answered. She hadn't been expecting it.

"Well? Are you going to state your business or would you rather waste my time?"

Ginny goggled up at the ceiling. _Macha?_

"Pendragon, my patience is limited –"

Ginny shook off her shock and resumed her pacing. She stalked over to the mirror, not caring that there were people on the other end of it, and frowned at her reflection. Her slightly-too-big black robe – all the robes Draco had brought her were black; apparently, variety was not highly prized at Malfoy manor – slipped down one pale shoulder. Ginny leaned close and examined a small bite mark on her collarbone. Dammit. _Where's Mórrígan?_

Macha hesitated, and looked toward the Phantom Queen's pavilion. "My sister is unavailable," she finally said.

Ginny reached out and brushed her fingers across the smooth glass of the mirror, over the spot where Draco's teeth had marked her, then tossed back the rest of her drink. The first glass and a half had burned, but after four, she downed them like water. The tumbler fell to the carpet with a dull thump and was immediately forgotten. _She's unbelievable, is what she is! Did you _see_ what just happened in here?_

"Yes," Macha said, "I did." She lounged beside the pool, propping herself up on one elbow.

_That wasn't me_, Ginny told the goddess, furious. _It wasn't me, and it sure as hell wasn't Malfoy either. What is she doing? And don't you dare lie for her, because I know she made us act like that. I could _feel _it. Did she think I wouldn't be able to feel it?_ Ginny turned on her heel and resumed her pacing. She wanted to smash something, but the mirror was enchanted and, after her rampage the other night, Draco had the elves remove all breakable things from the room.

"She knew that you'd feel it," Macha said. "She just doesn't care. Did you think she would?"

Ginny let out an aggravated scream and flopped face-first onto the bed, ridges of rumpled satin beneath her cheek. The sudden movement left her dizzy, and she took a second to wait for the room to stop spinning. _She doesn't _care? _She's damned lucky that Malfoy and I were able to stop because if we hadn't, if I had actually slept with that piece of filth –_

"Enough, Virginia," Macha interrupted. "Get to the point. Complaining about my sister isn't going to change anything."

_Why is she doing this?_ Ginny demanded. _I deserve to know why._

Macha sighed. She didn't agree with her sister's decision, but she couldn't very well say this to a mortal, even if the mortal was the Pendragon. "Because you've shared your body with him, your link with Harry is deeper than your link with Draco. They need to be equally strong. Mórrígan was taking steps to bring this about. It's vital, and I understand why she made the decision she did, even if the two of you don't necessarily like it."

Ginny curled her hands into fists, gripping handfuls of the cool bedspread. _There has to be another way_.

"I don't –"

_I'm telling you_, Ginny interrupted, _that there has to be another way because I _will not_ do this. I refuse to let anyone…you tell her from me that I'm no one's whore, and I won't allow her to treat me like one. I'm not going to sleep with Malfoy. It's out of the question. I won't –_

"Calm down, Virginia," Macha said. This girl could be so dramatic sometimes! It was something she and Mórrígan had in common, although neither of them would ever admit it.

Ginny took a deep breath and rolled onto her back. The dark blue canopy stretched above her. She tried to glare, but had trouble focusing her eyes. _Is there another way?_

"Not as long as you're in that room." Macha knew she was treading dangerously close to counteracting her sister's actions, and made the split-second decision to press ahead despite this. She knew that Virginia already resented them. If that resentment turned to hate, everything was lost.

Ginny took a minute to digest the goddess's words. _What if I got out of the room?_

"Then there are options."

_All right. Let me out._ Ginny sat up, steadied herself, and looked around, half expecting the door in the wall to open right up. Nothing happened.

Macha sighed. "I'm afraid, Virginia, that I can't give you an easy path out of this situation. Whether you follow my sister's plan or mine, you'll have to do things you don't want to do."

_Anything's better than fucking Draco Malfoy_, Ginny said, using the bedpost to help pull herself to her feet. _How do I get out of here?_

"He told you how, the very first hour you were there. Make a deal with him."

Ginny's balance deserted her, and she tumbled back onto the bed. _No!_

"You'd rather sleep with him than shake his hand?" A smile tugged at the corner of Macha's mouth. Virginia's pride was much like Mórrígan's as well.

_I don't –_

"It's your choice, Pendragon. Give him something he wants in exchange for letting you out, and the rest will follow naturally. Or, you can stay where you are and let my sister's influence do its work."

Ginny rolled to her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. She folded her arms around her body and groaned. Beneath her palms, she could feel the ridges of her ribs sticking through her skin – when had she lost so much weight? _This is a nightmare_.

"It's not," Macha said. "You're just intoxicated. Everything will seem clearer in the morning. A word of advice – don't negotiate with Draco until you've slept it off. He'd have no qualms about taking advantage of your impaired reason, and you'll wind up giving away more than you intended."

* * * * *

Mike had been standing in the hallway for a long time. He leaned against the wall across from the door, glowering at the blank white paint and the plain, stenciled numbers above the frosted window. He breathed the acrid hospital smell that never failed to make him nervous, cleaning agents mixed with illness. His shoes squeaked on the tiles as he shifted his weight.

Dana was in there. She was ill. She'd been sent to St. Mungo's, and he hadn't even been found out until hours after the fact. How difficult would it have been for Potter to send a note, for fuck's sake? Inconsiderate, in addition to being a bloody liar and an all-around bastard.

Was Delia Silvermoon a Death Eater? Mike remembered her from Hogwarts, of course. They'd been in Ravenclaw together. He'd never liked her. No one had. She'd always been a loner with an enormous superiority complex, he remembered, and Dana had been the only student she'd ever treated civilly. Could a misanthropic Ravenclaw grow into a Death Eater? Make that ultimate commitment to the dark side? And, if she had, would Dana lie to protect her? Even at Ginny's expense?

And this was why Mike didn't want to go in. Dana was on the other side of the door, and she needed him. She'd had a strong memory charm removed, and she needed the man she loved. Mike felt like a coward for not going to her, but he knew that if he went in that door, he wasn't going to leave without learning the truth about Dana, Delia, and Ginny, and he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to know that his girlfriend was capable of harming his best friend. He didn't want to know that chances for Ginny's rescue had been hurt because Dana had withheld information to protect a Death Eater. He didn't want to know that the woman with whom he shared his home, bed, and heart was genetically identical to a woman who belonged to the same organization and subscribed to the same philosophies as the people who'd murdered his parents. He was a coward, and he knew it, and he was disgusted with himself for it, but he couldn't make himself walk across the hall and go to her.

So, Mike leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and glowered.

Maybe Potter had made it all up.

Maybe Potter was being honest.

How could he know unless he went inside?

If Ginny were here, she'd want him to go in. She'd go, herself. She wouldn't let her fears get in the way of learning the truth.

What would Mundungus say if he could see Mike now? His father had never recovered from the fact that Mike had been sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor, the Fletchers' Hogwarts house for untold generations. Mike had been a disappointment, Mundungus had said. Mike preferred to think that he'd broken the mold. Still, at times like this, it was hard not to wish for a jolt of Gryffindor courage. He doubted much had rubbed off on him from his father, but perhaps the mother he'd never known yet resembled so closely had left him something. Either way, he'd never know unless he tried.

Dana needed him, and he needed to learn the truth about Ginny.

Mike reached for the doorknob.

* * * * *

Harry sat in the waiting room at the end of Dana's hall, and sipped his third cup of coffee. It was thick, bitter, and burnt, poured from the bottom of the pot, but it gave him something to do with his hands. Harry had always been a terrible fidgeter when he was anxious, but he didn't want to show any outward evidence of his worry. The emergency ward of St. Mungo's was not the place for a meltdown.

The nurses had urged him to go home, but he'd steadfastly refused. He wouldn't let Dana get out of this so easily. The second she was conscious and lucid enough to answer his questions, he was going to interrogate her within an inch of her life and then, if he was lucky, put her in jail for conspiring with a dark witch. It was no less than she deserved for what she'd done to Ginny, and Harry would see it carried out if it was the last thing he did.

An uproar, slightly muffled by the closed door, caught his attention. "Incoming! Get out of the way!" someone shouted. Someone who sounded a lot like Ron.

Harry leapt to his feet and barged into the hall, but jumped back in the doorway as a gurney nearly sideswiped him. Mediwizards shouted orders over the din as Aurors fanned out and took sentry positions up and down the corridor, barring all exits. Ron walked brusquely by, his face a sickly pale under the florescent charms that lit the hospital. Harry grabbed his friend's arm and demanded, "What's going on?"

"His Auror security detail found him in his attic," Ron said. "He's dead and they know it, but policy says they have to try to revive him all the same."

Harry looked towards the gurney. He couldn't make out the identity of the body; the swarm of Mediwizards and frantic Auror bodyguards was too thick. "Who?"

"Minister Fudge."

The ramifications of the Minister's death hit Harry immediately. "Bloody Christ, Ron. The chairman of the Grand Council is –"

"Yeah," Ron said, leaning against the wall beside his friend. At the other end of the hall, the hospital's head Mediwizard called time of death.

Harry's head dropped forward and he closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, Dana and her betrayal temporarily forgotten. "Fuck."

* * * * *

When she finally dropped off to sleep, Ginny plunged headfirst into alcohol soaked dreams, her subconscious saturated with sweaty, lurid colors.

_She was on the lawn of Hogwarts castle. It was early morning, and the mist swirled around her ankles and dampened her bare feet. The steel gray clouds threatened rain, but to Ginny, the day couldn't have been more beautiful. Harry was there, and they were together again. She wound her arms around his neck as he picked her up and swung her around. Their warm bodies pressed together as she tried to kiss him everywhere at once – his eyes, cheeks, lips, neck – and her fingers tangled in his thick hair. She'd missed him so much. The happiness that constricted her chest was so sharp it was almost pain. They held each other as the salt tears coursed down her face and they laughed together at the wonder of being reunited. As she pressed her lips to the warm, beating pulse just below his ear, Ginny whispered, "Let's never be separated again."_

_"I'd never let you go, Ginny. You've always been mine."_

__

_The voice was a higher pitch than Harry's, and as Ginny pulled away and looked up, his face melted before her eyes. The skin around his cheekbones tightened, making them more prominent. The nose lengthened, and the lips stretched in a menacing, proprietary smile. He was Harry…but he wasn't._

__

_Tom's arms tightened around her waist, crushing her to him. "I've missed you so much, Ginny. Not a day goes by that I don't think about you, and I know you feel the same. How could you not, after all we've meant to each other?"_

__

_Ginny struggled and tried to push him away. For a moment, she was a girl again, her ponytail tickling the back of her neck. Tom's sneer softened into a smile, and he wasn't Tom, he was Harry, twirling her around and laughing. The laugh took on a sinister tone, and he was Tom once more, pulling on her hair, nipping at her earlobe. She sobbed in panic and he laughed, his chest shaking against hers. "After that warm welcome? You _wound _me, Ginny." He mocked, "We'll never be separated again. Be careful what you wish for –"_

__

_And then, suddenly, Draco was there, his wand aimed at Tom's heart. Tom released Ginny's waist, and she stumbled back a step. Her eyes darted from Tom to Draco and back again. But was it Tom? Or was it Harry? She couldn't tell, they blended together so seamlessly. His face was strangely out of focus as he hissed something in Parselmouth, then asked in English, "You're going to kill me, Draco?"_

__

_Draco shrugged. "I have nothing to lose."_

__

_Ginny stared at this strange tableau. Tom turned to her, his gaze bright green. Harry's eyes in his face. They were so similar…. He said, eerily calm, "Stop him, Ginny. For old time's sake? After all we've been through?"_

__

_Ginny's legs gave out on her, and she sank to her knees._

__

_"Let me do it, Gin," Draco said. "It's for the best."_

__

_"You're the only one who can stop him killing me," Tom/Harry told her. "Only you, Ginny. If you let him end me, how will you ever forgive yourself? How will you explain to Ron and Hermione? What will you tell the goddess?"_

__

_She shook her head, and a helpless sob escaped her lips. "Don't make me choose. I can't –"_

__

_Ginny never finished her sentence. There was a flash of cold green light, and Ginny couldn't watch. She hid her eyes, and when she opened them again, the mist was gone. Bright sunlight beat down on her shoulders, and Hogwarts was nowhere in sight. Mórrígan, the warrior mother, stood nearby. The goddess's back was to her, and she looked off into the distance. The horizon was a line of inky black that melted into purple mist, then great, shimmering green that rolled up to the rocky foot of the cliff on which the goddess stood. Ginny took a deep breath and reminded herself, _It wasn't real. Nothing can hurt me when I'm with Mórrígan. Except, of course, Mórrígan herself.

__

_Ginny stood and walked to the goddess's side, leaned over the edge, and looked down. At first Ginny thought the cliff went on for eternity, but she just barely detected the sparkle of sunlight on the silver ribbon of a river on the ground below. "Is this really the Otherworld," Ginny asked, "or is it a dream?"_

__

_"The very fact that you're able to distinguish between the two means that you're not dreaming," Mórrígan said without turning her head. "Look at that, Virginia."_

__

_Ginny looked into the distance, using her hand to shade her eyes. "Why is the horizon dark when the sun is so bright?"_

__

_The goddess sighed. "The balance has been disturbed. It eats away at the Otherworld leaving darkness in its path. Soon,Virginia, only chaos will be left."_

__

_"Can you stop it?"_

__

_Still, the goddess didn't look at her. "_You_ can stop it."_

__

_Ginny folded her arms across her chest, although she wasn't cold. "How long until it reaches your camp?"_

__

_Finally, Mórrígan looked down at her. The goddess's red eyes were grave. "The way you measure time? Two months."_

__

_"Only two?" Ginny gasped._

__

_Mórrígan turned her eyes back to the horizon. "Perhaps three. No more than that."_

__

_They stood together, their elongated shadows flung behind them as the sun raced through the sky. At this altitude, the thin air was still. Finally, Ginny spoke. "I'm going to make a deal with Draco."_

__

_Mórrígan arched an eyebrow, but her eyes remained glued to the landscape. "I thought you'd rather die than do any such thing. I do believe that's what you said during one of your drunken rants."_

__

_Ginny bit her lip and searched the goddess's face, trying to see if the goddess was displeased, but her expression was blank. Ginny matched her icily neutral tone to Mórrígan's: "I've decided that your plan is absolutely out of the question."_

__

_Mórrígan closed her grasp around the hilt of the jeweled sword that dangled at her waist. "You've been talking to my sister."_

__

_"Does that bother you?" Ginny asked._

__

_After a pause, Mórrígan replied, "No." She rested a heavy hand on Ginny's shoulder and squeezed, not to cause pain, but to reassure. It was the first time in Ginny's memory that the goddess had touched her with anything but aggression. "I told you the last time we spoke that you had to trust yourself. I won't keep you from this, if you truly believe it's the best thing. The only direct orders I've ever given you have been during those times that fear was stopping you from making what you knew to be the right choice. If you're sure that you're not making a deal with Draco because you're afraid of the alternative, then I won't stand in your way."_

__

_Ginny digested that statement for a moment. She felt off-balance. Some of it was the last of the alcohol moving through her system, but most of it was Mórrígan's uncharacteristic behavior. This face of the goddess was the warrior _mother_, it was true, but Ginny had never before experienced the mother, only the warrior. She finally decided, "I'm making this choice because the alternative is unacceptable."_

__

_Mórrígan nodded. "Fine. Sleep a while longer, Virginia. Tomorrow will be a long day." Then, a wicked smile on her face, she trailed her hand from Ginny's shoulder around her back, rested her palm right between Ginny's shoulder blades, and pushed. Ginny lost her balance and tumbled off the edge of the cliff. She didn't even have time to gather enough air in her lungs for an adequate scream before the Otherworld melted away, like a chalk drawing dipped in water. Ginny plunged into darkness, and she slept the rest of the night without dreams._

__

* * * * *

Dana opened her eyes slowly and focused carefully on the figure by the door. _Whatever drug they gave me, it was a bad idea_, she thought as the man's face swam into focus. It was Mike, and his skin was as white as the sterile hospital wall behind him. "Mike?" she said, her voice only a hoarse croak. Dana cleared her throat and tried again, "Mike, what are you doing here?"

Mike didn't come near. He kept his distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his robe. "Is it true?"

She slowly sat up. The sedatives the Mediwizards had pumped into her body made her woozy and disoriented. "I don't know. Is what true?" 

Mike took a step closer. He pulled his hands out of his robe, and Dana saw that they were clenched at his sides in white-knuckled fists. "Ginny, Dana," he said. "You have to tell me where she is."

_Ginny_. Although it didn't show on her face, that one word forced a cascade of images through Dana's mind: running desperately through the Malfoy forest on four legs; arguing with Delia; shattering glass; casting the tie-breaking vote to leave her at Malfoy manor; Harry's face blurring as the blocks in her memory came crashing down. Through it all, one world swirled through her mind. _Pendragon_.

Dana felt the tugging of her silver magic, without her direction, searching out the bright spot that was Ginny. She couldn't rein it in; the sedatives had dulled the control she held over her power. Dana said, "You want to know where she is?"

"Is there anything you can tell me?" he asked again.

"She's safe, frightened, angry…." _And halfway drunk, _Dana thought to herself, but she wasn't about to share that bit of insight with him.

"How do you know?" Mike asked.

"I just do," Dana told him, beginning to shake. She could feel the magic slipping out of her control in her drugged state.

"How?" he demanded. His eyes were wide and angry.

"I just know!" she yelled. A wave of exhaustion washed over her as she looked at Mike. "I'm in the _hospital_," she snapped, "and all you can talk about is Ginny. What about _me_, Mike?"

He shook his head. In his eyes, Dana saw heartbreak, betrayal, and shattered trust. It wasn't _fair._ She was his girlfriend. Why didn't he see that she needed him? All he could do was ask about Ginny. Dana knew he didn't – couldn't – understand. Feeling as though her world was crashing down on her, Dana turned away and closed her eyes. Mike left the room without another word.

* * * * *

Hermione rubbed her eyes. She'd scanned dozens of books on protective enchantments, telepathy, and anything else she thought might have even a tangential relationship to the spell Harry described. No luck. She couldn't find a single reference to a spell that would form so strong a connection between both people that they would each know where the other is at all times. She was beginning to think such an enchantment didn't exist.

Still, Harry had always been a terrible liar. He'd told the truth that afternoon; Hermione was sure of it.

Hermione looked back over her parchment. Right after Harry left, she'd written down everything she could remember about what he'd said. She didn't want to forget a single detail. "Knows where Ginny is," Hermione murmured, reading over her notes, "a spell – some kind of charm, maybe? – performed when they were still in school…." She trailed off, lost in thought, then sat bolt upright in her chair. "That's it!"

Hermione took her candle and jogged over to Madame Pince's desk. It was the middle of the night, and but for her footsteps on the stone floor, the library was silent. The lone candle cast elongated shadows on the wall tapestries, and Hermione felt a cold shiver on the back of her neck. She'd worked alone in the library before, but never this late.

Madame Pince's record books weren't hard to locate. Hermione found the one with 1997-1998 stamped on the spine in gold. She heaved the heavy tome onto the desk and blew the dust off the cover. In here, Madame Pince recorded every book checked out during that school year, who'd taken it, and whether it had been returned on time. Hermione flipped through, careful not to tear the thin pages, searching for Harry's name. She bent low over the words and squinted her eyes, trying to decipher the librarian's pinched writing.

After several months of records, Hermione hit pay dirt. In November of their seventh year, Harry had checked out twelve books in one day. Hermione knew full well that neither he nor Ron had ever put that much effort into their homework. The only topics Harry had ever researched so thoroughly had been clandestine and extracurricular – Buckbeak's appeal, the second Triwizard task, Nicholas Flamel – and Hermione would bet every book in her collection that these tomes had nothing to do with any course Hogwarts was teaching. She picked up her quill and jotted down the titles – _Celtic Prophecies: A Complete History, The Pendragon Returns_ – she couldn't help but think that Harry's reading material was a bit weird – and then she picked up the candle and, stifling a yawn, went to collect the volumes on her list.

_I need coffee_, she thought as she browsed the shelves. Gone were the days when she could effortlessly study all night. She decided to take these books back to her rooms, where she could read and get much-needed caffeine all at the same time.

* * * * *

The hospital hallway was quiet. A Mediwizard pulled a sheet up over Minister Fudge's head as another cleared away empty vials and beakers of healing potions. The Aurors that had been on the Minister's security detail stood silent, dumbfounded, unable to understand how this could've happened on their watch. How could they have lost track of him for such a length of time? How could he have slipped away and killed himself right under their noses?

Harry turned to Ron. His friend's freckles stood out in the pale of his face. Harry ordered, "Go back to Hogwarts and tell Hermione and Dumbledore what's happened. Don't go back to the Division tonight. Owl everyone else in your department and tell them I said to stay home."

Ron shook his head. "I'm going wherever you are."

"Absolutely not."

"After all we've been through together?" Ron asked in a harsh whisper. He didn't want anyone to overhear. These days, the walls had ears, even in St. Mungo's.

"Ron, listen," Harry said, taking his friend by the shoulders and looking up into his eyes. "You're married. You have a family. I'm not going to let you put all of that at risk."

"And what about you?" Ron demanded. "What the hell are you and the other field agents going to do?" But then, just as the question left his mouth, Ron knew the answer. His stomach dropped. "You're going to try to assassinate Lucius Malfoy."

Harry shook his head, but Ron wasn't having it. "Don't you dare deny it. I can tell, and it's why you want me to go home. He's the next Minister, and you're going to try to kill him. Harry, you could go to _Azkaban_! Have you thought about that? Assassinating the Minister of Magic is –"

"I never said anything about assassinating the Minister of Magic," Harry interrupted. "You did." He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. "However, if you have a better plan, I'd love to hear it. Don't worry; Ginny will keep me out of jail."

"_Ginny_?" Ron hissed. "We don't even know where the hell she is! And she's not a barrister or – how the fuck is she going to get you out of this if you get caught?"

"We know _exactly_ where she is," Harry shot back. "At Malfoy manor. Trust me, if I'm thrown in Azkaban over this, she'll get me out."

"She's good, Harry, but she's not that good," Ron said, his forehead creased in a worried frown. He recognized the steely determination in Harry's eyes, and knew with depressing certainty that there was no way he'd ever talk his friend out of whatever suicidal plan he'd hatched.

"She _is_ that good, Ron," Harry answered with a small smile. "You have no idea just how good she is. If your little sister really wanted to, breaking into Azkaban would be a walk in the park for her. She could do it in her sleep."

"I'm coming with you," Ron insisted.

"If you come with me, who will tell Dumbledore about Fudge?" Harry asked. "It's not the kind of thing we can trust to an owl. What would Hermione do if something happened to you? And your parents? If anything goes wrong, they'll have two missing children in one week. Could you do that to them? They need you at the castle, Ron. Once Malfoy takes the oath of office, the school will need to have a fully trained Auror on hand, in case…you know."

Ron was afraid. It hit him full force that this might be the last time in his life he ever saw Harry. He reached out his long arms and pulled his best friend into a tight embrace. "Be careful, mate. Hermione and I – we couldn't get on without you, you know."

"I know," Harry said. "I'll be careful, don't worry."

"I can't help it," Ron said with a rueful smile. "After all these years, I'm in the habit of worrying about you."

Harry slapped Ron on the back, then pulled out of the hug. "Same here, Ron. Stay safe, all right?"

Ron nodded and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He stared at Harry's face, trying to commit every detail to memory, not knowing when, if ever, he'd see it again: the upturned nose; brilliantly emerald eyes framed, as always, by thick glasses; the pale skin, folded into lines of determination around his mouth and forehead; and, of course, the thin, slightly raised lightening bolt, topped off by unruly black hair. He was one of the most powerful wizards of their time, Ron reminded himself. If anyone could pull this off, it was Harry.

"You have to leave," Harry said. "Tell Hermione that I'll see her soon."

Ron tried to force ease into his tone. "Goodbye, then."

Harry smiled, though inside he was just as anxious as his friend. "See you later, Ron."

* * * * *

At the division offices, the field agents and Catherine stared at Harry with dawning horror. "Lucius Malfoy is the Minister of Magic?"

"Not yet," Harry said from the podium in center of the semi-circular briefing room. "Not until he's sworn in, which will probably be sometime tomorrow. You all know what this means."

"Full access," Catherine said, trying valiantly to maintain her usual unruffled calm. Still, anyone who looked in her eyes would see the quiet desperation that had taken hold of her. She got up and walked over to stand next to Harry. "All the files…code names, double agents…once they learn who we really are, the Death Eaters will be busy for months with retaliatory attacks against us."

There was a buzz around the room, and Saturn spoke above the din, "What's going to happen?"

"The Division will almost certainly be disbanded tomorrow," Harry said. "As chairman of the Grand Council, he's been pushing for it for years. Now he actually has the power. We'll be out of here by the afternoon, and by evening, he and his minions will be rooting through our files, feeding everything they can find back to the Dark Lord."

The worried, frightened whispers dropped off immediately. Everyone they cared about – friends, family – would certainly be tortured and killed. The room was silent. Finally, a pale-faced woman in the back spoke up. "What are our orders?"

Harry turned to the Division head. "Catherine," he murmured, "you might want to leave the room. If anything goes wrong, you'll want to maintain plausible deniability. I'll take full responsibility for –"

Catherine knew exactly what Harry was going to order the field agents to do, had known it ever since she'd heard the news of Fudge's death. She shook her head. "My family and I are at just as much at risk as everyone else in this room. I'm not going anywhere, Midas." She turned to the assembled field agents. "Tomorrow evening, we storm Malfoy manor. I want anyone with a Dark Mark taken alive, but Lucius Malfoy had better not survive the night. If any of you object to participating in a rogue Auror operation to assassinate a sworn Minister of Magic, you can leave now with a memory charm."

Nobody stirred.

Catherine nodded, a small smile on her face. "I'm glad to hear that there are no cowards in my Division. Half of you stay here and plan the raid. The other half, go to the records rooms and start destroying documents. Safe houses, criminal files, payroll, interview transcripts, code names – I want them all to disappear. When the Death Eaters get here tomorrow night, I don't want them to find anything but ashes."

* * * * *

Ron paced the sitting room, his forehead drawn into lines of concern. "I can't believe this is happening. First Gin, and now Harry –"

Hermione was just as worried about Harry as her husband was. "I know. It's dangerous, Ron, but he's one of the best agents in the Division. Maybe even _the_ best, since Ginny quit. If anyone can come out of this all right, it's Harry."

Ron just shook his head. "I should be there with him. I should be right next to him."

"What could you do?" Hermione asked. "You're a strategic planner. You're not trained for combat. You'd be an easy target."

Ron turned, face red, and opened his mouth to deliver a blistering retort, but Hermione held up her hand for silence. "I know, Ron. I know how hard this is for you; it's hard for me too. When we were young, the three of us always faced danger together, and it's killing you that he's off on this mission and you won't be there to watch his back. You think I don't feel the same way?"

"He _needs_ me, Hermione," Ron said. "I couldn't help Ginny – she might even be dead by now, for all we know. I can't lose them both. Do you have any idea – it would be just as bad as losing one of the twins, or Charlie…Harry is my _brother_."

"I know," she said softly. "I know, because I feel the same way. But Dumbledore needs us to be here, Ron. _This_ is where we can do the most good for the light side right now. The school needs us more than Harry does."

Ron shook his head. "I'm going; I don't care what he told me. He's not my superior; I don't have to follow his orders. Where's the floo?"

"This is a _war_," Hermione said. "We don't get to do things because we _want_ to; we do them because they'll help the side we support. Where will you do the most good, Ron? Are you going to leave the school without an Auror?"

"Dumbledore can take care of it."

"Dumbledore is only human," she pointed out. "He can't be everywhere at once."

Ron sank down into a chair. His forehead dropped into his hands. "I know."

"So you'll stay?" Hermione asked.

He nodded, but didn't look up.

"You should get some sleep," she said gently.

"I can't. Not while Harry's out there. Not until I hear that he's safe."

"You need to be well rested," she said firmly. "Let me get you a potion."

Ignoring his protests, Hermione rooted around the medicine chest until she found a vial of mild sleeping draught. She poured a half dose into a shot glass and brought it out to Ron. "Here," she said, dropping to her knees in front of his chair. She kissed his forehead, and handed him the glass. He sighed and asked, "Are you coming to bed now?"

"Not yet," she answered. "I have a few more books to look through, then I'll be along."

Ron gave her a lingering kiss on the mouth, then tossed the potion back and padded into the bedroom. Sighing, Hermione went back to her reading chair and picked up the first book from the stack on the floor. _The Pendragon Returns_. This had better be worth it.

* * * * *

Four hours later, Hermione was still curled into the overstuffed armchair. As a rule, she'd never put much stock in prophecies. Still, this was compelling reading. Even if it turned out to have nothing to do with Harry, it was interesting enough to take her mind off of where he was and what he might be doing. She flipped through the pages, scanning the small type, until a paragraph caught her eye.

_Arthur formed a connection with Merlin, his first protector, at a very young age. They shared a strong bond and for the remainder of their lives they could find each other with but a thought._

Hermione knew she was close; she could feel it. Her brain buzzed with activity; the answers lurked just beneath the surface…. She threw the book to the floor and picked up another.

_Merlin did all he could to hide the fact that Arthur was the Pendragon until such time as Arthur actually ascended to the throne. He told no one but the priests who were charged with preparing Arthur for the kingmaking ritual._

Like a bolt of lightning, Hermione made the connection. Harry knew where Ginny was because he _always_ knew where she was. He had said as much earlier that day.

"Ron!" Hermione ran down the hall, the book still in her hand. She threw open the bedroom door and launched herself across the bed. "Ron!" she shouted, shaking his shoulder.

He looked up at her through sleepy eyes. "Wha?"

"Ron, I've figured it out!" The words tumbled, rapid-fire, out of her mouth. Two years of marriage had taught Ron to decipher her quick speech, even when half asleep. "Harry's the protector of the current Pendragon incarnation, Ginny." Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! I shouldn't have told you that."

It took Ron only fractions of a second to recover his wits. "How? Never mind; yes you should have told me. What is this Pendragon thing?"

As Hermione explained, Ron grew more and more shocked. "Damn them, damn them both," he swore. "Why the hell didn't he _tell_ us?" 

Something in Hermione's brain snapped, and a look of horror dawned on her face. "We knew. Or, we _could've_ known. We were memory charmed to forget." Suddenly she was very angry. How _dare_ someone memory charm her! How dare...Dumbledore. She loved the Headmaster like an uncle, but how dare he! It wasn't as though she hadn't always done everything she could to help Harry. How _dare_ he make that decision for her?

"I don't remember anything like that."

"Of course you don't." she snapped. "You were memory charmed. It was during seventh year, the night we met Sirius in the woods, when he was going to help Mike's dad save Alastor Moody. Ginny followed us outside…" Hermione trailed off, gathering her wits, forcing her way through the fog that cloaked the memory. "There was a crow…Ginny started to scream…her nose was bleeding and, Ron, _it wasn't red_! I thought she was having an epileptic fit, or had been attacked. Remember, you and Harry tried to go to her, and I held you back. Dumbledore and Snape showed up –" Hermione saw in Ron's face that she'd broken his charm, so she stopped. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, struggling to grasp the magnitude of what they now knew.

"He did what he thought was best," Ron said. He needed to say it, to convince himself that Dumbledore had their best interests at heart when he erased their memories. Any alternative was unthinkable.

"He had _no right_," she said, her voice strained with anger and betrayal. "_No_ right at all. Those memories were _ours_, and he didn't even _ask_, he just did it. He just –"

"Are you questioning what Dumbledore does?" Ron demanded. "He's single handedly spearheading the fight against Voldemort, Hermione, and he's the most powerful wizard living –"

"No," Hermione interrupted. "Your little sister is the most powerful wizard living."

At this declaration, Ron made a strangled, horrified sound in the back of his throat. "I'm only saying that if Dumbledore _obliviated_ us, he must have had a good reason for it."

"You're not even _angry_?" she asked incredulously.

"Not at the Headmaster," Ron said. "Harry, on the other hand, is a completely different matter."

* * * * *

Morning

Ginny looked at her breakfast tray, then raised her eyes to Delia's. "What's this?"

"It's _The Daily Prophet_," Delia said, looking at Ginny though she were stupid. "Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"I thought I couldn't have anything to read," Ginny said suspiciously.

Delia shrugged. "That's what Draco said, but today's issue has a headline that you need to see."

Ginny sat down, still watching Delia through narrowed eyes. "Does he know you've brought me a newspaper?"

Delia shrugged. "Are you going to tell him?"

Ginny didn't reply. With one hand, she reached for the coffee mug, and with the other, she picked up the newspaper. She turned it over, read the headline, and promptly choked on her drink. Coughing and spluttering, she slammed the paper down on the table and demanded, "Explain."

The paper was emblazoned, _LUCIUS MALFOY TO TAKE OATH OF OFFICE: NATION MOURNS LOSS OF CORNELIUS FUDGE_.

Delia arched an eyebrow.

Ginny buried her face in her arms. "Oh hell."

"Make a deal with him," Delia urged. "You need each other. It's the only way anyone is going to come out of this in one piece."

"Shut up," Ginny snapped without lifting her head. "I know. I just…."

Delia rolled her eyes. "He has your best interests at heart. He's not the monster you seem to think."

"Isn't he?" Ginny asked, finally raising her head. "Do you have any _idea_ what kind of person he is? Would you like to know exactly how many people he's raped, tortured, or murdered since he became a Death Eater? Because I can tell you. More than ten. More than thirty, even. Would you like an exact count, including names and ages? Because I can give it to you."

"The Aurors have hardly been friendly to us either –"

"They weren't all Aurors! They were civilians, Silvermoon, living out their lives, minding their own business. People who have never hurt anyone. He's an _animal_, and today I'm going to have to make a deal with him, because I don't have any other choice."

"_If_ he's done those things –"

"You _know_ he has."

"It's for the greater good," Delia said. "The pureblooded class –"

Ginny's laughter was cruel. "What would you know about the pureblooded class, Delia?"

Delia felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She struggled to breathe. "I beg your pardon?"

Ginny's lips curved in a merciless smile. It was a look Delia had seen on Draco's face dozens of times. "I said," Ginny repeated slowly, "what would you know about the pureblooded class? You're certainly not a _member_, but you insist on giving your life to keep it in power. You've pledged yourself to one of its most objectionable advocates, and you've even let yourself fall in love with him, goddess alone knows why. What would Draco say, Delia, if he knew who your parents were?"

Delia gripped the back of a chair so tightly, her knuckles turned white. "How would you know anything about my parents?"

"I can see everything," Ginny said smoothly. "Every single detail of your life is right here in front of me, should I choose to look. Draco promised to tell you about your birth parents, but he meant that you'd help him find me, and then _I'd_ tell you about your birth parents. I think you've been waiting long enough, Delia, don't you?"

Delia suddenly didn't want to know. Ignorance was better than undesirable truth. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked.

Ginny stood. "You need to know _exactly_ what you've given your life for." Ginny ignored the stricken look on Delia's face as she continued, her tone matter-of-fact, "Your mother was a nurse. Ravenclaw, class of 1975. Your father was an insurance agent –"

"What house?" Delia interrupted.

Ginny tilted her head. "House? No house, Silvermoon. He didn't go to Hogwarts. He went to a school called St. Mary's Academy."

Delia stared. "St. Mary's Academy? But Hogwarts –"

"He wasn't a wizard, Silvermoon. And when she married him, your mother took up a non-magic profession. _She went Muggle_ _for him_. They died in an auto accident, in a snowstorm. You and Dana were put up for adoption by a _Muggle_ agency and then adopted by a pair of _Muggles_ because your parents were –"

"Shut up!" Delia shouted. She felt tears burn her eyes, but refused to give into them in front of Ginny. "Just shut up!"

"Chin up, Silvermoon," Ginny taunted. "Being half Muggle isn't so bad. Just ask Voldemort."

"You're lying," Delia insisted.

"Am I? Take a look in the mirror."

Ginny motioned to the spy mirror and, wishing she could run from the room, Delia screwed up her resolve and slowly approached it, afraid of what she would see. Ginny stood behind her, gently placed her fingers on Delia's right temple, and murmured, "Look at what you are."

Delia opened her eyes and looked. A vague nimbus of color surrounded her reflection, and in it she could see…Ginny had told the truth. Like a silver volcano, Delia's Otherworldly power welled up and nearly erupted. She only just managed to keep control.

"What would Draco say if he knew?" Ginny asked quietly.

Without warning, Delia turned and swung. Ginny ducked the blow easily, then stood and declared, an insolent smile on her face, "You'll never be able to say the word mudblood again without thinking of it."

Delia thought she might be sick from rage. She turned and stalked towards the door, but once again, Ginny spoke. "There's another headline that you might want to see."

Delia stopped at the table and picked up the paper. Below the fold, small type proclaimed _Agent Nimue Hospitalized_. Delia looked back at Ginny, who stood, arms crossed over her chest, and said, "Dana's in St. Mungo's."

"She deserves it," Ginny said flatly. "Tell Draco I want to make a deal."

Delia's steel-colored eyes burned with hate. She turned on her heel and left without another word.

* * * * *

Delia barged into Draco's study without knocking. He looked up from his work, the smile falling from his face when he saw the look in her eyes. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Ginny wants to make a deal," Delia said curtly. She turned on her heel to leave, then thought better of it. She turned back, crossed the room, rested her palms on Draco's desk, and leaned in until her face was a bare inch from his. "I don't care what you have to do," she said quietly, "but if you don't do something about her, I will."

Draco stood and said in the same softly menacing tone, "If you touch one hair on her head, I swear to the goddess I'll kill you myself."

Delia jerked away from him, stumbling back. Her eyes were wide with horror.

Draco looked no less shocked. "Oh my god," he whispered. Then, at normal volume, his words tinged with desperation, "Delia, I have no idea where that came from. I don't know –"

"She made you say it," Delia snarled. "She and her self-righteous, hypocritical –"

Draco shook his head. "No, it didn't come from her. It was…I don't know. I'm sorry."

"You meant it."

"I'd never hurt you," he insisted.

Delia shook her head. "You wouldn't be able to help yourself." She knew then that Malfoy manor was no longer a safe place for her. Draco had been turned into someone she didn't even recognize, and what would the rest of the faction do to her if they discovered her filthy blood? Delia knew she'd stay as long as she could, but she no longer knew how long that would be. She was terrified of Draco, of Ginny, and of herself. She had to see Dana.

* * * * *

Delia sat by her sister's bedside. Dana's eyes were glassy, unfocused, and had taken on a distinctly silver sheen. Their power swirled and sparked between them. "What the hell did they _give_ you?" Delia asked.

Dana shook her head. "I don't know. Some kind of sedative. Dee, I can't control the magic. I'm too out of it. I can't _focus_."

Delia slipped her hand into her sister's and squeezed, lending Dana some of her strength. "I'm here, Day. We're in this together."

"We don't have anyone else," Dana whispered. A tear spilled out of the corner of Dana's eye and dampened the pillow, and Delia pretended not to notice. She didn't want to embarrass her twin.

"Mike?" Delia asked softly.

Dana shook her head miserably. "He only cares about _her_. He doesn't want anything to do with me."

"I'm sorry, Day," Delia murmured. She knew that her sister truly cared for Mike Fletcher, and must be heartbroken by his desertion.

"What about Malfoy?" Dana asked tentatively. "Are you and he –"

Delia shook her head. Tears choked her voice as she said, "He threatened to kill me this afternoon."

"Dee!" Dana cried. "He _what_? Tell me you're never going back there. Go to the Division and ask for protection. They'll give it to you. We have safe houses –"

"It wouldn't do any good," Delia insisted. "Ginny has wormed her way into his head like a…like a _parasite_. She's sucking out everything that makes him _Draco_ and is replacing it with herself."

"Does this have anything to do with the Pendragon?" Dana asked.

Delia gave her a sharp look. "What do you know about the Pendragon, Day?"

"Only what we learned during that History of Magic project fourth year, and that Ginny is it. Harry told me, and it's how I wound up here."

"Harry Potter did this to you?" Delia demanded.

"Yes," Dana said grimly, "and I'm not about to forget it. But the Pendragon – what does it mean?"

"I can't talk about it."

"You don't owe Malfoy anything," Dana insisted. "He said he'd _kill_ you, Dee. It's just us now, you and I. We don't have anyone else; only each other."

Delia considered her twin's words, and finally concluded that Dana was right. Her bargain with Draco was over. She'd lived up to her side and, indirectly, he'd lived up to his. She knew the truth about her birth parents. She drew a deep sigh, then began. "All right, I'll tell you about the Pendragon prophecy. But I'll tell you right now that you're not going to believe it."

* * * * *

Draco decided to let Ginny sweat. The more anxious she was when he showed up to bargain, the better for him. That afternoon, when he finally walked through the wall, he immediately noticed her lounging in a chair, feet propped up on the table, nursing a firewhisky. He frowned. "You shouldn't drink so much."

"You shouldn't sacrifice people to evil war goddesses," she retorted. "We all have our faults, and I think mine is comparatively minor."

He smiled in spite of himself. "Point taken. How many have you had?"

She shrugged. "Just this one. I'm not even finished with it."

"Liquid courage?" he asked with a slight laugh.

"Something like that."

"Why would you need courage, Ginny?" Draco asked. He wanted to hear it from her.

Ginny took a deep breath, steeled her resolve, set her glass on the table, and stood to face him. "I want to make a deal."

He arched an eyebrow and affected surprise, even though he'd known that it's what she was going to say. "A deal?"

"You know," she said, frustrated that he wasn't going to make this easy for her. "I want to bargain. I need to get out of here."

Draco ran his thumb over her lower lip and said, his voice low and smoky, "You have very little to bargain with, Virginia."

She slapped his hand away. "We need to reach some kind of compromise or we're never going to get anywhere."

"I agree," he acknowledged. "So, you've decided to support my coup?"

"Not yet," Ginny hedged.

Draco's expression hardened. "In that case, I think we're done."

He turned to leave, and Ginny grabbed his arm. "Wait! There has to be something else you want."

Draco turned back to her, his eyes considering. "That depends. What did you have in mind?"

Ginny took a deep breath. "I understand there's a sword."

Something in Draco's face changed. He finally appeared to be taking her seriously. He sat in a chair, tipped it onto its back legs, and propped his feet on the table. "I'm listening."

"I need that sword," Ginny said, pacing in front of him. "And if you want your coup to be successful, you need me to have it."

He nodded slowly. "So?"

"So," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm, "do you know where it is?"

Draco nodded. "The lake was in one of the Dark Lord's scrolls. He told me about it almost as soon as he'd translated the passage."

"Dumbledore has no idea," Ginny told him.

Draco smirked. "Then I seem to have the advantage. Is there a deal to be had?"

She nodded. "If you let me out of here, I'll go with you to get the sword. I won't try to run away or escape from you."

"What about my faction?"

"That's another bargain for another time," Ginny said, dropping into the chair across from him. "You've heard my terms. Do you accept them?"

He thought for a moment. "I'll need you to promise not to run away."

"Fine."

Draco shook his head. "Contractual magic isn't strong enough to hold you." He reached into his boot and pulled out an ornate knife. It was silver, and jeweled snakes wound around the base. Draco slid it across the table to rest in front of her. "You'll have to swear it in blood."

Ginny slid the dagger back. "Like hell I'm giving you any of my blood. God only knows what you'd use it for."

He considered her for a moment. "I have a stipulation. If we do this, you have to close off the link. I can't live this way. It has to stop."

"Done," Ginny said. She'd been planning on it anyway.

"There is the matter of your promise…."

Ginny pulled her dragon ring from beneath the neckline of her robes. "What if we swear on this?"

The ring was more than satisfactory. The Mórrígan relentlessly punished any who swore in her name and then went back on their vows. "My father is taking the oath of office this afternoon," Draco said. "I have to be there. I'm not sure when we can leave the manor. If I just disappear, people will notice. I'll need an excuse. Give me a few hours to think, and I'll let you know what we're going to do."

Ginny closed her hand around the ring, and Draco closed his hand around hers. They made their promises in low, solemn voices, both very aware of the magnitude of what they were doing.

Draco pulled his hand away, and said, "The link."

Ginny smiled sweetly, and the next thing Draco knew, a resounding _slam_ echoed through his mind. She hadn't built a wall to allow their thoughts to pass back and forth; she'd shut it off completely. He could no longer feel anything about her, hear her thoughts, speak to her telepathically…he was completely alone. The link had become an irreplaceable part of him, even though it was only a few days old. He felt like he'd lost an arm. "Goddammit!" Draco shouted. "That's _not_ what I meant."

Ginny shrugged and said innocently, "You should always say what you mean, Malfoy. Otherwise, people might take advantage of you."

"Bitch."

She winked.

He growled low, in the back of his throat, and struggled to maintain control. "I'll be back when I have a plan." His lips were thin with fury.

Ginny smirked. "Enjoy the inauguration." She knew it would be excruciating for him, but it was no less than he deserved.

* * * * *

The council room was silent. All eyes were trained on Lucius Malfoy, who stood behind the center of the curved obsidian table, at its center. He was tall, groomed, and dignified. Heavy black curtains lined the walls, as a sign of respect to Minister Fudge.

His voice measured and even, Lucius took the oath of office. As he spoke, his cold gray eyes swept across the room, took in the council members that regarded him with pleasure and respect if they were Death Eaters, and fear if they weren't. The press that covered his swearing in looked at him with wide eyes. Some of them were wary, others smirking and triumphant. The gallery was crowded with followers of Voldemort and Death Eater sympathizers, people who saw Malfoy's ascension as a sign that things were turning around in the wizarding world. Someone was finally in power who would solve the Mudblood problem and bring order back to the wizarding world.

Lucius sat in the high-backed black leather chair. His eyes met his son's gaze and he allowed a ghost of a smile. The corners of Draco's mouth curved up, a faint smile in return. Lucius thought he recognized the faraway look his son's eyes; Draco wasn't paying attention to the ceremony – that much was obvious. The boy's mind must be on the day when he would sit in this chair and have the world at his beck and call. Lucius couldn't blame Draco; he was a Malfoy, after all.

Lucius snapped his fingers, and a parchment and quill was brought over. "My first act as Minister will be the total and immediate disbanding of the Auror Division. They have outlived their usefulness."

As he signed his name with the plumed quill, the gallery buzzed. In the front row, Narcissa was unflustered. Draco showed no reaction at all. A reporter shouted, "What about the Death Eaters?"

Two men in black robes descended on the woman and hauled her to her feet, but they hadn't dragged her very far before Lucius held his hand up to stop them. "What paper do you represent?"

The woman didn't seem to notice that she'd been pulled halfway across the Grand Council chamber. She met Lucius's gaze straight on. "_The London Lamppost_."

Lucius regarded her with thinly veiled scorn. "Please inform the readers of _The London Lamppost_ that the Death Eaters are a myth. Your audience would do better to worry about Mudbloods diluting the power of the pureblood members of the community and driving up the squib birthrate. If there's anything to fear –"

"But law enforcement –" the woman began.

Lucius cut her off with a flick of his wrist. "I am appointing Charles Crabbe and Beth Lestrange to take over the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I officially sanction whatever steps they deem necessary to protect the security of this Ministry and the people it represents. They will have full authority over the policy and staff of the DMLE. Unless, of course, any council members chooses to oppose?" None objected. Lucius gave a businesslike nod. "Good."

The room was quiet as a tomb. The only sound was the reporter's shoes scuffling on the floor as Lucius's enforcers hauled her out.

"There is one more piece of business before I adjourn for the day. I am personally issuing a warrant for Harry Potter's arrest."

One person gasped; it was loud in the terrible quiet of the chamber. Some faces betrayed shock; more looked pleased. No reporters dared to question; they didn't want to be removed as their colleague had been.

"On what charge?" one brave councilman asked timidly.

"Treason."

The man frowned. "What evidence -"

That is a matter of national security," Lucius replied dismissively, signing his name to the document. "He must be brought in as quickly as possible. Potter is a powerful wizard. We will need someone especially skillful to –"

"I'll do it."

Lucius looked up from his parchment and smiled when he saw who had volunteered. "Are you sure?"

Draco nodded. He was no longer looking distracted, but was very much in the here and now.

"Son, he has powerful friends. You two are evenly matched, I know, but –"

"I'm more than a match for Potter." Dozens of Dictaquills recording Draco's words scratched in the background. He stood, faced his father, and declared, "I'll have him in Azkaban before the month is out."

Lucius nodded. "Excellent." He knew that when Draco said he'd do something, he always followed through. Potter would be out of the way in a matter of weeks, and Ginny Weasley would be theirs for the taking.

* * * * *

For the second time that day, Draco and Ginny studied each other from across the table. "Here's the plan. I've volunteered to track Potter down and put him in Azkaban, which will give me an excuse to be away from the manor for a month or so. You need to tell him to go into hiding, somewhere I'd never look."

"How are you going to sneak me out of here?" Ginny asked.

"The Aurors are planning a raid on my house," Draco explained.

Ginny frowned. "How do you know?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because most of them are Gryffindors, and they're not exactly unpredictable. Trust me, this is what they're planning. They _must_ be. I'll find out when, and we'll leave in the confusion."

"How? We arrested your mole months ago."

"_Our_ mole is gone, true," Draco acknowledged. "But what about _your_ mole?"

Ginny wondered how he knew about Professor Snape, but didn't ask. Instead, she said, "I'll talk to Harry. Give me a minute." Then, silently, she called out, _Harry? Are you there?_

Harry was in the middle of analyzing blueprints of Malfoy manor for viable entrances when Ginny spoke into his mind. He froze, hardly able to believe it. _Ginny! Are you all right? Has Malfoy hurt you? Are you –_

_No, he hasn't hurt me_, Ginny said. _Listen, Harry. You've just been declared the Ministry's most wanted. You have to get out of the building._

Harry frowned. _What?_

_Lucius Malfoy said that you're guilty of treason. He's drawn up a warrant. You need to go into hiding, just until I get back_.

_Back from where? Ginny, where the hell are you?_

_At Malfoy manor_, she replied. _But not for long. Draco and I are leaving tonight. I made a deal with him. We're going to find the sword that Mórrígan promised me. Harry, you have to get underground. Trust me_.

_Right_, Harry said. _I'll wait for you at Lupin's._

"He's going to Lupin's," Ginny said out loud.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Tell him that's the _first_ place I'd look."

_No good,_ Ginny said. _Think of somewhere else._

_The Burrow?_ Harry said.

Ginny relayed the suggestion, and Draco said, "For Christ's sake, Potter, that's the _second_ place I'd look. Exercise some creativity."

"I don't hear you giving any suggestions," Ginny snapped.

"If I suggest a place, then I've thought of it, which defeats the purpose of sending him into hiding," he said snidely.

Ginny scowled at Draco. _Harry, what about Mike's?_

_Absolutely not_, Harry replied without missing a beat.

_That's my point. It's a good hiding place. No one would ever look for you there, because everyone knows you can't stand each other._

_He'd never let me stay,_ Harry pointed out.

_He would_, Ginny corrected. _He's not a monster. Tell him about the warrant and say you need to be out of sight for a few days. He won't turn you away. If nothing else, he'll let you stay because he knows I love you._

At her words, Harry closed his eyes. It felt like years since he'd last heard them. _You do?_

_Of course I do. I love you, and we're going to get through this. I'll see you in a few days, I promise_. Ginny hoped he'd listen, that he wouldn't run off and do something rash, like decide to go on this raid Draco insisted was going to happen.

Harry couldn't help but smile. _I love you too, Ginny. I can't say how much. Stay safe_.

_You too_, she said. _I have to go now. Tell Ron and Mike I'll be back before they know it, and that I miss them._

At the Division, Harry barged into Catherine's office. He quickly filled her in on his outlaw status and told her he had to go underground. She offered him use of a safe house, but he declined. He told her he'd be back later; there was no way he'd miss this raid, even if he had to drink Polyjuice to participate. Then, steeling himself for what would undoubtedly be an unpleasant conversation with Mike, Harry Disapparated to his flat to pack an overnight bag.

* * * * *

Snape fumbled with the thick metal key ring. He kept the heavy wooden door to his lab heavily charmed; he didn't trust anyone in Malfoy manor to keep from prying in his absence.

He stuck the correct skeleton key in the lock, and to his surprise, the door swung open before he could turn it. Someone had unlocked the door while he was gone. Snape pulled out his wand and silently slipped inside. He could just make out the shape of a man, his outline slightly darker than the dark of the rest of the room. "What are you doing in my lab?" Snape demanded in the tone he used on misbehaving students. He'd taught many of the Death Eaters at Hogwarts, and the treatment they'd received at his hands in their school days still inspired a healthy amount of respect bordering on fear. He'd traded on that intimidation more times than he could count.

A candle flared. "Just waiting for you," Draco drawled.

Snape grimaced. The second in command of the Death Eaters merited a sight more respect than the other youthful dark wizards. Besides, despite his best efforts in the Potions classroom, Snape had never been able to intimidate Draco. The young man was simply too full of himself. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked.

Draco smiled the smile of a snake that had cornered its prey. He said merely, "I know your secret."

Snape froze, then in one swift motion, turned, pushed the door closed, and slid the deadbolt home. Then he turned back to Draco and, with one eyebrow raised, replied, "If it comes to that, then I know yours too."

Draco braced his hands on the work table behind him and lifted himself onto it. He folded his arms across his chest and asked, "Potter told you, did he?"

Snape glared at the young man sitting on his countertop, but didn't tell him to get down. "No."

"Then how –"

"It wasn't hard, Draco. I know that Agent Jezebel is Ginny Weasley. I know that the Pendragon is Ginny Weasley. I know that Voldemort has been searching high and low for the Pendragon and that you have Agent Jezebel locked up in your private wing of the house. Finally, I know that you have too much pride to spend your life second in command to anyone. What about Potter?"

"He found out when we were still in school," Draco explained. He couldn't believe that Potter hadn't told anyone about Draco's plans for a coup. Still, he'd said he wouldn't breathe a word, and Draco could only suppose that Potter had been true to his promise. How dreadfully noble of him. Draco took a moment to size up his old Potions professor before saying, "You haven't turned me in."

Snape kept his face expressionless as he lit more candles. Draco's angular face looked eerie in the dim light, and Snape reminded himself that they were on equal footing. They were both traitors to the Dark Lord, and if one of them went down, so too would the other. "Why would I?" Snape asked. "You're working towards the same cause as I am, albeit for different reasons. How did you find out that I'm a spy?"

Draco leapt lightly down from the countertop and strolled towards Snape's desk. As he spoke, he shifted through the parchments piled on the blotter. "I linked minds with Ginny. I saw everything she knows, and you were in her brain. It was an enlightening experience."

"I'm sure," Snape said dryly. Draco abandoned the desk and wandered over to the bookshelf, grabbing the heavy, leather-bound tomes at random and flipping through their pages. Snape asked, his voice tinged with impatience, "Is there something in particular you're looking for, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked up from the book in his hand. His white-blond hair, gilded by the candlelight, hung in his eyes. "There is, as a matter of fact. Where's the letter?"

"What letter?"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Severus. I know a letter came for you by owl post during the night, and I want it."

Snape said, "I burned it."

Draco snapped the book shut and tossed it on a table. He advanced on his former teacher. "Then tell me what it said."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because we need to know."

"I'm not a member of your faction," Snape reminded him. "I don't have to help you."

"Ginny and I need to know when they're coming," Draco explained. "I'm going to use the confusion to sneak her out of here, so I need to know when."

Snape held his eyes for a minute, then turned to his worktable and busied himself with straightening up various vials and beakers. It was a gesture of obvious dismissal.

Draco grabbed Snape's arm and jerked him around. "Listen," he said, staring down into Snape's eyes. "I could've turned you in at any point during the past few days, but I haven't, and I won't. I need to know what was in that letter. I'm not going to tell the Dark Lord or my father, and my faction won't do anything to stand in the Aurors' way, but you have to give me a date and time."

"What makes you think they're coming here?" Snape asked. "The Division has been disbanded. They've all gone home to their families, to savor what little time they'll have together before your minions hunt them down like animals."

Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. It was one of several mannerisms of Ginny's that he'd picked up through the link. "I know that it's what Potter is going to do, because it's exactly what I would do. They're coming here to kill my father, and I wish them the best of luck, but Ginny and I won't be able to stay for the fun, I'm afraid. Tell me when and where, and I'll leave you alone."

"No."

Draco pulled himself up to his full height, a sight taller than the Professor, and said, "I'm asking you in her name."

Snape's face was sallow in the dungeon light. "I beg your pardon?"

"Almost six years ago, she saved your memory. You owe her a favor. This is the last time I'll ask – In the name of the Pendragon, Severus, when are they coming?"

Snape sighed, knowing he had no choice but to answer. "Tonight at sunset."

Draco blinked. "They're not wasting any time, are they?"

"Can you blame them?" Snape asked.

"No, I don't suppose I can," Draco said thoughtfully. He was silent a moment, digesting the information, then his eyes refocused on Snape's and he released his hold on the older man's arm. "Thank you."

Before Snape could express his extreme shock at hearing those words from Draco Malfoy's mouth, his former pupil had already swept from the room. Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, praying that he hadn't permanently compromised the Aurors or Dumbledore.

* * * * *

Draco paced across the solarium. The very _air_ seemed serious. Everyone was grave. They'd talked for years about what would happen when it was time to move against the Dark Lord, but now the moment was near at hand. None of them could quite believe it. The Pendragon and Draco had made a deal. It was the first step.

"The Aurors will be here at sunset," Draco said. "Stay out of the way. Don't stop them, but don't help them either. Just…let them do their work. For goddess's sake, don't get yourselves killed."

"How long will you be gone?" Neil asked.

"Not long," Draco said. "A day, at most. Blaise is in charge. I want everyone to listen to him. If things get out of hand, he'll give the evacuation order." He stopped in his pacing and looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each one of his followers. "You are all vital to this organization. Watch your backs, and watch each other's backs. Take care, and stay safe."

"Good luck, Draco," Grace said. The rest of the faction echoed her good wishes. He nodded, both pleased and touched by their loyalty, and left the room. He needed to pack.

* * * * *

Harry took a deep breath, and knocked. Mike opened the door, took one look at Harry, and slammed it shut again.

"Fletcher," Harry called, "open this door. I need to talk to you." There was no reply. Harry took a deep breath, forced himself to stay calm, then said, "Please?"

For a moment, Harry was afraid Mike would ignore him. But then, the door cracked open, the chain lock still in place. Mike said, "You have thirty seconds. I have a stopwatch."

"I need a place to stay."

Mike actually laughed. "And you came _here_? The answer is no, Potter."

"Listen," Harry said. "When Lucius Malfoy took the oath of office as Minister of Magic, his first act was to disband the Auror Division. His second was to draw up a warrant for my arrest."

"Really?" Mike asked, opening the door a little further. "What for?"

"Treason, or so I'm told. I need a place to hide, just for a few days. Somewhere the Death Eaters won't look."

"You put Dana in the hospital," Mike said. "There is no reason in the world for me to let you into my home."

"I love Ginny," Harry said, "and she loves me, and you love her. That's a reason."

Mike stared at Harry for a silent minute, then slid the chain off and stepped aside, opening the door. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"She told me you would," Harry said. "It was her idea that I come here."

Mike slammed the door shut and threw the locks. "You _talked_ to her?"

"Owl post," Harry lied. "She's escaped from Malfoy manor. She asked me to tell you that she misses you, but she'll see you in a few days."

That little news of Ginny was worth letting Potter stay. Mike thanked him gruffly, and pointed out the spare bedroom.

"How's Dana?" Harry asked.

Mike sighed. "You weren't lying. She really did sell Ginny out for a Death Eater."

"I'm sorry, Fletcher," Harry said. To his surprise, he meant it. Mike looked heartbroken. Harry might not like him very much, but no one deserved this.

Mike shook his head, not wanting to accept Harry's sympathy. "It's just that…they're the ones who murdered my parents, you know?"

Harry nodded. "Mine too."

* * * * *

Ginny had a crescent amulet in one pocket and a shrunken suitcase in the other. She held the invisibility cloak over her head as she and Draco ran through the manor's halls. Smoke billowed from random rooms, and curses buzzed through the air. They dodged them as best as they could, and when dodging got difficult, Draco would shoot a few benign hexes, temporarily incapacitating Aurors with jelly-legs or a slug-belching spell.

They were just ducking into a secret passage concealed in the wall of Draco's study when Ginny froze. "Harry's here."

"What?" Draco demanded. "Of all the stupid, suicidal, _Gryffindor_ things to do –"

_Harry!_ she shouted. _You have to leave_!

Harry ducked into an alcove. Ginny was distracting him; he couldn't engage the enemy with her talking in his head. _No_, he said firmly. _I'm not leaving until Lucius Malfoy is dead. This is personal, Gin. He told the world that I'm a traitor to the Ministry. I can't let it go._

_It's not safe for you_, Ginny protested frantically. _What if you get hurt? What if they _kill_ you_?

_I drank Polyjuice. No one has recognized me yet. I can hold my own against the Death Eaters, you know that. After tonight, I'll go back to Mike's and I'll stay out of sight until you're home, but you can't stop me from this. I love you. Good luck with the sword._ A Death Eater raced by, and Harry cut off contact, swinging out of the alcove and firing three hexes in a row.

"We don't have time for this," Draco said, pulling Ginny into the passageway and slamming the door. "Wish him luck and tell him you're leaving."

Ginny and Draco spilled out the door into the cold, starry night, and took off across the Malfoy grounds. "When we get off the property," Draco said as they ran, "we can Apparate."

Ginny stopped short. "Apparate?"

"Come on!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

She struggled out of his grasp. "I'm not Apparating anywhere."

He looked at her as though she were mad. "Why the hell not? Why wouldn't you…Ginny, when was the last time you did magic? _Intentional_ magic, I mean."

She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I think we'd _better_ talk about it, or we're never going to get out of here."

"Find another way. I'm not Apparating."

Draco rolled his eyes. "_Gah_! You are, without a doubt, the most frustrating person I've _ever met_! How should we get there, Ginny? By train? Because we certainly wouldn't draw any attention there, with my Dark Mark and your tattoo. Or maybe by car? Except that I don't know how to work one and you don't know where we're going. Brooms would take _days –_"

"Then we take days," Ginny interrupted.

"Fine," Draco said through clenched teeth. He grabbed her hand and, together, they ran around the back of the house, where the Malfoys had their own private Quidditch pitch. He pulled open the door to the broom shed and rooted around in a locker until he came up with two brooms, then tossed her one.

Ginny looked at the handle, emblazoned _Nimbus 2001_, then at the broom he'd kept for himself. "I want the Firebolt," she said.

"No one touches my Firebolt but me," Draco snapped, striding over to her. He grabbed her hand once more and, pulling her behind him, said, "We'll take off once we clear the forest."

The Malfoy family forest was much as she remembered it from her brief escape attempt, thick with trees and dark. Just before they cleared the edge, Draco stopped. Ginny felt something cool slide over the knuckle of her fourth finger and looked down at her hand. A plain, silver band glistened in the faint moonlight that filtered through the trees. "What the hell is this?" Ginny demanded, looking up at him in surprise.

Draco slid a matching ring onto his own finger. "They're enchanted," he explained. "If you're going to keep the link completely sealed off, at least this will help me keep track of you."

"You don't trust me?" Ginny demanded, pulling at the jewelry. It wouldn't budge.

"I told you," Draco drawled. "It's enchanted. I'm the only one who can remove it, and I'd be more than happy to, if you'd fix the link."

"No." Ginny fully intended to get her sword and run like hell. She couldn't take the chance of him figuring out her plan, so the link had to stay closed.

"Then the ring stays. It's just a locater talisman. It won't kill you." He still loosely held her wrist, and was struck by how thin she was. He didn't think she'd been eating properly since Shannon's death.

Ginny glared, then straddled the Nimbus 2001 and kicked off the ground. Draco followed. Behind them, Malfoy manor remained under siege.

* * * * *

The Death Eaters were too strong. There were too many of them; the field agents hadn't stood a chance. The attack had been a last-ditch effort, an act of desperation, and they'd failed. The Aurors fled the grounds, Disapparating _en masse_ to safe houses across Britain. They'd known it was a gamble, and they'd lost. Lucius's revenge would be absolute. They would all be outlaws by morning.

Harry went first to Catherine's home. She'd paced her sitting room half the night, waiting for news. "Report, Midas."

Harry shook his head. "We stunned a few, killed a few more, but Malfoy got away. _Most_ of them got away. There were just too many of them."

Catherine hung her head. "I should pack," she said, her shoulders sagging. "I understand America is nice this time of year."

Harry forced a smile. "They'd never look for you in, say, Texas."

"It's not me I'm thinking of," Catherine said, "it's my kids." She was the mother of two small boys.

"They'd like Texas," Harry predicted.

She shook her head. "I can't run away and leave all of you to face what's coming. The three of us will ask for sanctuary at Hogwarts. It's the safest place in Britain. Are you coming?"

Harry shook his head. He'd told Ginny he'd stay at Mike's flat, and there he would remain until she came back. He couldn't ask for sanctuary while she was still out in the world, putting herself in danger. He hoped Draco knew what he was doing. If anything happened to Ginny during their little adventure, Harry would kill Draco with his bare hands.

* * * * *

Two days later

Draco was half way through his second pint when he noticed that Ginny was no longer in the hotel bar. He sighed. He'd known it would only be a matter of time before she tried to run, but he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. Well, she couldn't have gone too far. He threw some money on the table and pushed his chair back.

* * * * *

Covered in his invisibility cloak, Draco stole out the back door of the little hotel. He didn't want to risk anyone spotting him out of the window. After two tense days of travel, the barrier Ginny had thrown up in their link still hadn't fallen. Thanks to the locater charm in his ring, though, Draco could still sense her nearness. She hadn't tried to escape after all; she'd just wanted some fresh air. He followed his instincts to the small wood that backed up into the gardens of the hotel, and slowly wound his way through the trees. The moon and stars sent their faint silver glow to Earth, creating deep pools of shadow out of the branches and leaves. The night was quiet, peaceful, and cool. He couldn't blame Ginny for stealing away; the bar had been stuffy and hot, and overcrowded with bluff and genial Muggles who had cloyingly welcomed the petite redhead. He wasn't surprised that Ginny had been uncomfortable.

He knew he was drawing close; he could feel her, even though he couldn't yet see her. Draco slid the invisibility cloak off of his shoulders, slung it over one arm, and stepped into the clearing just ahead. Two steps in, he froze, completely floored by the scene that greeted him. As a rule, Draco didn't surprise easily, but he thought he might make an exception this once.

Ginny lay on her back in the center of the grassy clearing. Her hands were clasped behind her head, and she gazed up at the starry dome of the sky. But what astonished Draco so profoundly was that she was _glowing_. A silver radiance seemed to leak from her body, as though she was nothing more than a lampshade through which her power shone. She was lit from within, and the pure energy that seeped out through her skin illuminated the entire clearing with a soft, silver light.

He gave himself a mental shake and walked over to her. "I heard you coming," she said, not moving her eyes from the stars.

He sat down on the grass next to her. "What are you doing out here?"

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, and for a moment the glow got brighter. "I'm exhausted," she whispered. "I couldn't hold it in anymore, and I thought, just for a few hours…."

Draco lay back against the ground, shoulder to shoulder with Ginny, and turned his eyes to the heavens. He couldn't remember the last time he felt compassion for anyone, but Ginny had truly looked terrible when they'd arrived at the inn. The circles under her eyes were like purple bruises, and her face had taken on a slightly dazed expression. She carried a massive amount of power within her, and every moment she was fighting a battle with herself to contain and control it. "We all need a rest now and then," he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. The grass was cool and damp against his back; he could feel the dew seeping through his shirt.

Ginny didn't answer. They lay next to each other for several minutes without talking. Finally, Draco spoke. "It's mind-boggling, isn't it, to think of everything that's out there, too far away to look at even with a telescope lens."

She nodded. He wasn't looking at her, but the motion of her head shifted the silver light in the clearing, making the shadows flicker and dance. After a moment, she asked hesitantly, "Would you like to see?"

He turned his head to face her. "You can do that?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "I can do anything." She raised herself on her left elbow and rested her right hand index and middle fingers against his temple. He expected her skin to be hot, and was surprised to find that it was as cool as the grass beneath him. "Look up, Draco," she whispered.

He turned his head back to the stars and couldn't withhold a gasp of surprise. An explosion of color rocked his vision. He knew he was looking at things never before seen by human eyes, except for hers. Suns of every color of the rainbow revolved around each other in their timeless dance, chased by comets and planets, asteroids and dust clouds. He was looking at creation itself, at the birth and destruction of every star in the galaxy. He thought the meaning of life might be within his grasp, if only he could focus on one thing. But he was distracted from the sky by the grass and trees and animals that surrounded him. He could see the spark of life within each living thing – that magic that kept them all alive and connected the animals with the plants and with him, filling the clearing with a symphony of Otherworldly color that took his breath away.

Too soon, it was over. She drew her fingers away, and in a brief moment of panic Draco thought he was blind. He wasn't, but his eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the sudden darkness of the world around him. Draco turned to Ginny, full of awe. Nothing was hidden from her. He hadn't fully appreciated that part of the prophecy until this moment. And, most staggeringly, Draco knew that she had only shown him a fraction of what she was capable of seeing. He said so, and she nodded.

"You wouldn't have been able to handle the entire thing," Ginny said. "My first time, the sensory overload put me in a coma for three days."

"How much did I see, then?"

"About a quarter of it, I think. It's enough to get the idea across, and it still makes a good show."

"How can you bear it?" he asked quietly, beginning to understand why she was so tired lately.

"Most of the time, I can repress it," Ginny said. "I see the world exactly like you do, usually. But it's so hard to keep up…." She trailed off, unsure of how to finish her thought. She knew that he understood.

"I can just imagine how Potter must have been the first time he saw all that."

She tilted her head so that she could see him out of the corner of her eye. "He hasn't ever, actually."

"Why not?"

She looked away. "I don't know. It just never came up."

Draco didn't know how long he laid in the clearing, shoulder to shoulder with Ginny. He looked up at the stars and planned out the next leg of their journey. He calculated when they should leave in the morning, how far they would probably get before she was too tired to continue, and then where they would stay for the night once they arrived. Draco rolled onto his elbow to fill her in on his plans, and was brought up short when he saw that she was sound asleep. The silver light still seeped out from her skin; there was no way she'd be able to tamp it down until she woke. "Poor waif," he whispered in amused sympathy. She really did look forlorn; she had lost weight in the past few weeks and her once-fitted clothes hung loosely from her frame.

Draco briefly considered waking her, but then remembered that he had the invisibility cloak with him. He gently picked her up from the ground and then arranged the cloak around the both of them and started for the inn.

* * * * *

Draco cleared the last stair to the third floor, and looked down the hallway in puzzlement. He had no idea which room was hers. He didn't want to wake her to ask, so she would just have to sleep in his room for the night. Draco wasn't sure how she'd react to waking up in his bed, but thought it would certainly be interesting to find out.

Getting his key into the lock without dropping her took some doing, but he eventually managed. Draco gently kicked the door closed behind him, laid Ginny down in the center of the bed, and shrugged out of the invisibility cloak. She'd be terribly uncomfortable if she slept in those clothes. He quickly resized his suitcase, then dug through it until he found what he was looking for – a black shirt, one of his favorites. It would make a suitable nightshirt.

Now he was faced with the problem of how to get her into it. Draco twirled his wand as he rifled through all of the spells he knew that might suit the situation. He had devoted much time to charming ladies' clothes _off_, but he didn't think he'd ever had to charm them _on_ before. Finally, Draco laid the shirt on the bed next to her, aimed his wand, and said, "_Exuviae mutuus_." There was a flash of light, and he saw with satisfaction that the spell had worked. She was now dressed in his shirt; the hem fell somewhere around mid-thigh and the sleeves hung past her hands. Her clothes were folded and stacked neatly on the bed next to her, and her shoes sat on the floor. 

Draco moved the pile to the sofa, and pulled a chair over to the bed. He didn't bother to put her under the covers; it would only wake her up. Instead, he unfolded the decorative afghan that sat on the end of the bed and spread it over her. It helped quite a bit in dimming the light that still poured from her skin. That done, Draco sat in his chair and gave Ginny a pensive look.

This protector business was getting much more complicated than he had ever dreamed it would be. He had always known that joining his mind to hers was going to be necessary. He had been preparing for the moment for years. What he hadn't counted on, and he was willing to bet Voldemort hadn't either, was that he would actually feel protective of the woman he was born to protect. When Draco had hatched his plans to overthrow the Dark Lord, the Pendragon had been nothing more than a pawn to him, a means to an end, someone he could manipulate into joining his faction. But now, as he looked at her small form curled up on his bed, he found that the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt. More than that, Draco was growing increasingly suspicious that he was _incapable_ of hurting her. It hadn't been like that at first, in the days immediately following the connection of their minds. Lately, though, the impulse to keep her safe had been steadily increasing in strength, and it was going to throw a definite wrench in his plans if he didn't figure out how to get around it. There surely had to be a way to have his cake and eat it too.

Draco was distracted from this line of thought when Ginny shifted on the bed and whimpered. He turned his attention back to her, and saw with astonishment that tears ran down her face. She was crying in her sleep; the light from her skin reflected through her tears and transformed them into shimmering prisms of grief. "Shannon," she whispered.

"Shh," Draco said softly, shifting over to the bed. "It's all right. I'm here."

Ginny opened her eyes, but Draco could tell she wasn't seeing him. She was still sound asleep. Still, she whispered, "Shannon."

Draco stroked his hand over her hair. In spite of himself, his brow creased with worry. "It's okay," he murmured over and over. "It's okay."

Ginny closed her eyes again, and tossed on the bed. "I didn't mean to," she whispered through her sobs. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"She knows that, Ginny," Draco said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, wondering if she could hear him in her sleep. He moved his hand from her hair to her arm, gently rubbing the fabric that covered her luminescent skin. "She knows."

He was just about to pull his hand back when she laced her fingers through his; he realized that she needed human contact, for all that she was asleep, and he didn't pull away. Although his skin was generally pale, his fingers seemed black against the silver light that poured from her hand. Draco couldn't help the feeling that by touching her he was somehow marring the purity of her power, and he wondered briefly whether Potter ever felt the same way.

They stayed locked in that tableau through the night: Ginny curled into a fetal position with a death grip on his hand, and Draco sitting on the bed next to her, keeping her nightmares at bay. 

Draco spent the hours deep in thought. He was a Malfoy, wasn't he? A master manipulator. There had to be a way to regain the upper hand in this bizarre contest of wills. Draco couldn't believe he was even considering asking himself the question, but what would his father do in this situation? Well, first of all, Lucius would try to force her to drop the barricade she had put in their link. With full access to his opponent's thoughts, the battle would be much easier. Draco knew forcing her would be useless; there wasn't a power on Earth that could make the Pendragon do something she didn't want to do. His eyes wandered listlessly over her form and rested on their interlocked fingers. A smile, diabolically triumphant, spread across his face. He couldn't force her, but perhaps he could trick her….

* * * * *

When the clock on the wall struck seven, Draco gently disengaged his hand from hers and eased off the bed. She would wake up soon, and they would have to leave. He tucked the afghan more securely around her shoulders and went to take a shower.

When the bars of daylight that shone through slats in the blinds streaked across the bed, Ginny stirred and then slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was that her hand, which lay right in front of her eyes, gave off an ethereal silver light, obvious even in the glow of the morning. A spasm of pain crossed her face as she grabbed hold of the power and, with an iron will, forced it back to a place deep within her soul. The radiance faded from her skin. She looked normal again. 

The second thing Ginny noticed was that she was wearing a shirt that didn't belong to her. She raised herself up on her elbows and blearily pushed her hair out of her face. That's when she noticed the third thing: Draco Malfoy opened the bathroom door, a white towel wrapped around his waist. A cloud of steam billowed through the doorway. His eyes fixed on her with a disquieting intensity. Ginny wasn't in her own room, wasn't in her own clothes, had been alone with her captor the entire night.

Draco saw the realization dawn on her face, the flash of panicked dismay that she couldn't have concealed if she'd wanted to. She sat up and faced him, her eyes wide. "How did I get into this shirt?" she asked, a slight tremble in the controlled evenness of her tone belying her horror at the situation.

"Use your imagination," Draco purred in a velvety smooth voice. He padded across the carpet to the side of the bed. The smile he gave her was both sensual and chilling.

Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in shock. "Bastard," she whispered. It couldn't be true. With a shake of her head, she cleared the cobwebs from her mind and glanced around the room. Ginny spotted her clothes folded in a neat pile on the sofa and felt sweet relief wash over her. If they had done what he was suggesting they had, she never would've picked her clothes off the floor and folded them afterward. Would _he_ have?

Ginny eased off the far side of the bed and crossed to the sofa, giving him a wide berth. She was furious with herself. How could she have dropped her guard last night? Being tired was no excuse. And how could he have taken advantage like that? If he had taken advantage. She wouldn't put it past a Malfoy. They were the lowest of the low. 

She snatched up her clothes, raced into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her. She could hear his mocking laughter as she pushed the lock button. Even though she knew that such a flimsy lock would afford no real protection at all should Draco wish to get to her, it still gave her a small measure of security. The steam that filled the room from his shower made her feel sticky and did nothing to dispel the weary fog that gripped her mind. Ginny rapidly donned her clothes and splashed some cold water on her face. When she felt conscious enough to face Draco on equal footing, she opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the hotel room. 

He had donned a pair of black trousers and a black shirt, still untucked. His feet were bare. When she appeared, he turned and gave her an inscrutable look. His long fingers deftly fastened his cufflinks: silver, imprinted with snakes wound about the Malfoy crest. Draco was silent; he would let her make the first move. With any luck, the link would be reopened before she left the room.

"Get moving," Ginny snapped, starting towards the door. "We should've been out of here before sunrise."

"Whose fault is that?" Draco asked.

"You should've woken me," Ginny said, stopping in her trip across the room to look at him. "If we're behind schedule it's your fault."

"No," Draco said sharply, "it's not. We could've Apparated and been there _days_ ago if you weren't such a bloody coward."

Her voice was deadly. "What did you just call me?"

"There's nothing wrong with your hearing." His voice dripped with scorn and frustration. "You're too damned scared to use the powers you've been given. Worse, you _know_ it and you don't even _want_ to do anything about it."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"_You let it control you!_" he said over her. "What happened the day they were handing out all that Gryffindor courage, Ginny? Got in the wrong line, did you?"

She threw the black shirt across the room, but he snatched it out of the air before it could hit him. "Fuck you, Malfoy," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Draco's expression was predatory. "Already been done."

"You're a liar." Desperation and fury clouded her eyes.

Ah, now he was back in familiar territory. Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Am I? We could've had a World Cup Quidditch match in here last night and you wouldn't have heard a thing. Are you really so sure I'm not telling the truth?" Draco knew the gentlemanly thing would be to let it go, but he had no intention of doing so. Not when he could use this to turn the tables on her, to regain the upper hand in their battle royale. 

He let the shirt slip through his fingers to the floor and slowly stalked across the room to her. When he spoke again, his tone was carefully measured, intense, and every word drove into her brain with the force of a hammer. "What if I told you that I spent the entire night on that bed with you, touching you, my body entwined with yours?"

Ginny's mouth opened as she drew in a shaky breath, but to her credit, she didn't back away from him. His eyes met hers, and the corner of Draco's mouth turned up in a satisfied half smile. The shock and confusion that filled her gaze was exactly what he had hoped she would feel. "You can see with your eyes that I'm telling the truth, can't you?" he drawled. "You might not be able to tell the particulars without unblocking our link, but you can at least see in my aura that I'm telling the truth." She began to shake her head, and Draco gently grasped her chin in his palm and turned her face to his. "Now who's lying?" he asked smugly. "Come on, Ginny. Lots of witches would envy you."

For one terrible moment, Ginny's mind frayed in panic and her knees almost gave out from under her. It just couldn't be. He had to be lying. _But he wasn't_. She could see his truthfulness with her own eyes. She rallied her pride and forced herself to meet his gaze head-on. "I was asleep, not dead," she said coldly. "If we had done anything interesting last night I'd have noticed, unless you're the lousiest shag in the world." She pushed his hand away from her chin, elbowed past him, and slammed the door behind her as she stormed into the hall.

Draco scooped his shirt up form the floor and hurled it into his open suitcase with such force that it bounced right back out. "Dammit!" he shouted. She was going to drive him insane. He had to get her to drop this barricade in their link. He had almost had her, but the moment had slipped away and he didn't know when another would present itself. "Dammit!" 

* * * * *

In a dark, remote corner of England, the Dark Lord knelt on the ground. His hands were steeped in blood; it ran down the front of his robes and soaked the dirt before him, mingling with the rain that fell in torrents. He raised his high-pitched voice over the thunder. "Badb, Lady of Death, Queen of Deception and Despair, greatest of the Mórrígna triad," he cried, "hear your servant. Thank you for the generous gift," he paused a moment to admire his ring, "but it is not enough. I need the Pendragon. Send her to me, and you'll have more human blood spilled in your name than you ever dreamed possible."

In the Otherworld, Badb knelt by a stream. Her army, the creatures of the dark, shrieked and howled around her. The goddess's face, so like her sisters', creased in a sick smile. "The mortal thinks he can bargain with me," she said in amusement. "Very well."

She leaned over the pool and asked Voldemort, "You presume to make demands of the goddess?"

"My lady," Voldemort said, "I mean no disrespect. I only ask for help."

"There is someone who can help you," Badb said. This mortal was close, so close…she would consume him as he'd consumed so many. "I will send this helper to your side."

"Thank you," Voldemort groveled.

"And Tom," Badb said, "do you believe I can't tell the difference between rabbit blood and human? Do not think to fool me again, or I will be most displeased."

"No, my lady," Voldemort said, stiffening at her use of his mudblood name. "I wasn't trying to trick you. I needed blood to contact you, and the rabbit was nearby –"

"I am not interested in your excuses," Badb said. "From now on, use human blood or none at all. I require the most potent magic you possess."

"Yes, my lady," Voldemort said.

Badb waved her hand over the water's surface, and Voldemort disappeared. It was once again a stream. She looked up at Medraut, her second in command, and smiled. "He is so power hungry, he won't understand until it's too late. He is blind."

"Will you really send him the Pendragon?" Medraut asked.

Badb nodded to the demon. "I will try. If she swears to support me, I will be unstoppable. She's too well protected when she's here, but _there_…"

"The world of mortals will be open to you soon," Medraut said.

Badb nodded. "I know. Everything is going according to plan."

"Your pawns are also coming along nicely."

The goddess smirked. "I only gave them a push in the right direction, but they're succeeding beyond my wildest hopes. They both have so much hate…." She took a moment to relish the panic that Mórrígan must be feeling. Badb thrived on terror and chaos. It was as air to her; she couldn't survive without it.

* * * * *

They stood at the edge of the water. Lightning lashed through the sky, and thunder rumbled so loudly, Ginny could feel the vibrations beating on the inside of her chest. Rain poured down, soaking them to the skin and pounding the surface of the water into mist. "Here it is," Draco shouted over the noise of the storm. His straight platinum hair covered his forehead in dripping strings and his eyelashes stuck together in wet, spiky clumps. His black shirt and trousers clung to his lean body like a second skin, making his flesh seem all the more pale in comparison.

Ginny pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, her hand trembling with the cold. At first, her robes had shielded her a little more from the rain, but now the clothes she wore underneath were just as wet as Draco's. The rain was freezing, and the wind cut right through the fabric plastered to her body, chilling her to the bone. She couldn't feel her feet. "You're sure?" she shouted back as a thunderclap threatened to split the sky in two.

"What?"

Ginny grabbed his head and pulled it down until his ear was right in front of her mouth, then yelled again, "You're sure?"

Draco straightened and nodded.

Ginny's eyes swept the turbulent lake. Waves crashed at their feet. "Where is it?"

"How should I know?" he snapped. "You're the bloody Pendragon; you tell me!"

Ginny cursed inwardly. How the hell was she supposed to know either? Just then, a particularly large wave swept over the beach, soaking them to their knees. Through the mist, Ginny just barely detected motion, something rising from the turbulent water. The next lightning flash illuminated it – an arm, cloaked in red fabric, clutching a sword in its hand.

"There it is!" she screamed, grabbing Draco's arm, using her other hand to point. "It was the water; I had to touch the water."

"Great," he shouted back. "How the fuck do we get to it?"

"I found the damned thing. It's your turn to be useful," she shot back.

Draco's eyes swept the beach and lighted on a clump of reeds. Hidden among the plants, bobbing frantically up and down in the storm, was a small wooden boat. He jogged over and splashed into the water, dragging it free. Two oars rested neatly inside. It was as though the craft had been waiting for them. "We'll use this!" he yelled to Ginny.

She couldn't hear over the fierce thunder, but the gist of his statement was obvious. "You've got to be kidding. In this weather?"

"Scared, Weasley?" he asked, clambering into the unsteady boat and positioning both oars in the dark gray water.

Ginny bristled at the taunting grin on his face. She knew he was remembering the morning in his hotel room, when he'd accused her of being a coward. She'd be damned if she ever let Draco Malfoy trump her in the bravery department. "You wish," she snapped back, climbing into the boat. It almost capsized, and Draco grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Sit still," he ordered. "The water is rough enough without you tipping us even more."

The rain stung their cheeks like icy needles, and they had to squint their eyes against the painful drops. In the center of the lake, in the middle of the worst storm of the century, the hand held Excalibur aloft. Its clear blade flashed silver with each lightening bolt. Draco started to row.

* * * * *

A/N part 2: Stay tuned for chapter seven, "The Weapon of Choice." Many interesting twists and turns are in store.

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! You all are my heroes. You have no idea how much I appreciate each and every one of you. Never underestimate the motivational power of a review. Also, feedback makes me a better writer, which translates to a better story for you to read.

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	7. The Weapon of Choice

**Title and Chapter: Galatea Chapter seven "The Weapon of Choice" (7/?)**

**Author Name: Irina**

**Author Email: irina_author@yahoo.com**

**Category: Action/Adventure**

**Keywords: destiny, adventure, Pendragon, mythology, post-Hogwarts**

**Rating: R for violence, adult situations, and language**

**Spoilers: All four books**

**Summary: _Galatea is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in __The Rebirth, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry…and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess [Sequel to __The Rebirth.]_**

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This chapter has quotes from "The Lotos-Eaters" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, _The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot, and __Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine. Inspiration was also drawn from __Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll, __The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley, and The__ Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis. Ten points to anyone who spots the first reference, and thirty to anyone who spots the third._**

**Author's Note: Thanks to my betas, Danette, DRI, Nome, Josh, and especially The Elder Wyrm for being so lovely, and my muses at the HP Pendragon yahoo group for being so cool. Thanks as well to my brother, who is a pretty great kid, when all is said and done. An extra thank you to Duckie, for looking up a quote from _Chamber of Secrets when I couldn't find my copy. Thank you also to Pendragon list members Ginny and Mark, who made a really cool website for my fics. Check it out at http://www.morrigna-trilogy.tk/_**

In this installment, time passes differently for Ginny and Draco than it does for everyone else. So, during the chapter, three and a half days go by for them while the others only live through one.

**Chapter Seven**

****

**The Weapon of Choice**

****

_It must be strangely exciting_

_To watch the stoic squirm_

_It must be somewhat heartening_

_To watch shepherd meet shepherd.___

_--Alanis Morisette_

__

The boat pitched in the frigid water. Water crashed against the sides of the small craft and pooled in the bottom. Draco kept an eye on the floor as he rowed, ready to bail if it looked like they'd be in trouble. Ginny seemed oblivious to the cold and wet; she leaned over the prow as though she could make the boat grow faster just by willing it. She probably _could, Draco reflected, and he wished she would. His arms and shoulders ached from fighting the waves. He was beginning to feel ill from the boat's chaotic rocking, and was glad when they pulled up alongside the arm._

He expected her to grab the weapon, and was surprised when she didn't. Ginny leaned even further over the side of the boat, and Draco lunged forward and caught the neck of her robe, jerking her against him. They both tipped backwards. She fell into his lap, and he snaked his arm around her waist, anchoring her to his chest. "Don't you _ever do that again," Draco hissed in Ginny's ear. "You almost went overboard."_

She turned her head to look in his eyes. "There's no scabbard."

He lifted his head. Sure enough, the naked blade flashed with each lightening bolt. "So?"

"_So," she said, "the scabbard is the most important part!"_

Ginny threw his arm off of her waist and lunged forward again. "Hey!" she shouted at the arm, raising her voice above the roaring water. "Where's my scabbard?"

"It's just a _hand," Draco yelled, grabbing for her clothes a second time. "It can't answer you."_

Ginny leaned even further over the side of the boat, and Draco's fist grasped air. "It must be attached to something." She squinted into the water, but the surface, disturbed by the violent rain, was nearly opaque.

"Not necessarily!" Draco said. "Grab the sword. I want to get out of here."

"Not without the –"

"_Now, Weasley!"_

She reached for the weapon. Her hand hesitated just a moment, and then she closed her fist around the pommel of the sword.

The hand released the sword and Ginny tightened her grip, not wanting to drop it in the water. A wave of power rushed through her, starting with her right arm and spreading to the rest of her body. Her skin was shining silver again, as it had that night at the hotel, making her a beacon against the black sky. Draco couldn't help ungraciously comparing her to a lighthouse. If one was going to be stranded in a boat in the middle of a rainstorm, it helped if one's companion glowed in the dark.

Just then, a tremendous wave pitched the boat. It tipped at a dangerous angle, but for a moment Draco thought they'd be all right, until another, stronger wave came along. Their small craft capsized. Draco heard Ginny's head crack against the overturned boat before the waves pushed him under.

Draco opened his mouth to shout with frigid shock, and took a mouthful of water. Coughing and spluttering, his head broke the surface and he gasped for air. Then, struggling to keep above the waves, to keep breathing, to keep his numb body moving, he looked for Ginny. She hadn't resurfaced. Dammit.

He closed his right hand into a fist, unable to feel the metal of the locator talisman around his fourth finger but aware of its presence all the same. He took a deep breath and plunged underwater.

The ring led him right to her. She hadn't released her grip on the heavy sword, and its weight was pulling her down. He snaked his arm around her chest and kicked as hard as he could, struggling to bring them both to the surface.

While they'd been underwater, the current had dragged them close to land. Draco drew on his last reserves of strength and pulled Ginny's inert body in to shore, letting the waves do most of his work for him. When he felt sand under his feet, he staggered in the last few yards, then fell to his knees, the rain and lightning still lashing through the air. He dumped Ginny onto the soft sand and bent down to examine her forehead.

A crack of lightning split the sky, and in the flash, Draco saw something that made his stomach churn. _Her blood wasn't red. He turned quickly away and retched, vomiting all of what he'd eaten that day. He'd known that she'd bleed silver, of course, but actually seeing it was more than he'd been prepared to face. It was disgusting, unnatural. He sneaked another glance at her head and gagged again, but his stomach was empty. There was nothing left to throw up._

Miserably, Draco wiped his mouth with his wet sleeve, then lifted his head and surveyed their surroundings. He couldn't see much in the dark, but the lightning bolts illuminated a building, a ruin, on top of a nearby hill. He thought just how much of his energy the storm had sapped, and wondered if he could walk that far. There was no choice; Draco had to try. She was unconscious and bleeding, and needed a roof over her head.

He checked to make sure his wand was still in his pocket, and tried a levitation charm on Ginny's limp body. Nothing happened. He must be more tired than he'd thought. Nervous for Ginny's health, Draco slid his arms beneath her body and, groaning, heaved himself to his feet. Then, holding her as tightly as he could, he took his first, unsteady steps toward the ruin in the distance.

* * * * *

Draco staggered down the hall, cold and shock making him stumble as though drunk. He held onto Ginny with numb fingers as he lurched along, his shoulder against the crumbling stone wall the only thing keeping him on his feet. She was soaking wet, a dead weight, and he clutched her to his chest, determined not to drop her. The point of the sword dragged on the floor behind him. Doors gaped wide on either side, dark mouths to ancient rooms beyond.

He was desperate. Her head hadn't stopped bleeding. He kept his eyes firmly averted, not wanting to look, but he knew her wound needed treatment. Draco came to another doorway, and stuck his head around the corner, squinting his eyes against the darkness. It was a bedroom; he saw a pallet with a musty, tattered blanket and few pieces of rotting furniture. Jackpot.

He swung inside and dumped Ginny on the bed. A cloud of dust flew up from the dirty bedcover, and Draco sneezed. As he worked the sword free from her clenched fist lightning flashed outside, lighting the room through a window near the ceiling. They might be in a ruin, but at least the roof was intact, and seemed unlikely to cave in on them. His damp footprints left a trail in the thick layer of dust on the floor. He sneezed again as he drew his wand.

Draco placed the tip to the laceration on her forehead and opened his mouth to recite the incantation, but just then another lightning bolt cracked through the sky. In the brief flash, Draco got a good look at her head, the silver blood on his wand, and gagged. His stomach heaved and he bent double, drawing slow breaths of the stale air. Hoping that the room would stay dark until could perform the healing charm, Draco touched his wand back to her head and sneezed once more, then said, "_Medicor."_

Lightning flashed.

Silver blood still leaked from the cut, coagulating on her pale cheek.

Draco frowned. He tried another charm, "_Ascelpio," and waited for the next flash._

That one didn't work either. Dammit. What the hell _was this place?_

He worked his arm under her torso and pulled her up. Ginny's head lolled to the side; her unconscious body shivered. He had to make her warm before she became ill. He held her up with one hand, and with the other he wrestled her arms free from the sleeves of her robe, his hands made clumsy with cold. The black trousers and turtleneck jumper she wore beneath were waterlogged. He eased the robe out from under her body and tore a strip from the bottom hem, then wound it around her head and tied it into a makeshift bandage. If his wand didn't work here, he'd have to do it the Muggle way, primitive though it may be.

Her head taken care of, at least for now, the next order of business was to warm her up. Drying and heating charms met with the same success as his healing spell. Draco glared balefully at the limp form on the pallet. "Pain in the ass," he muttered under his breath. "Even Screwtape would've been better than you." She didn't reply. He shivered too, but had no idea how to heat the room. There was no firewood.

At the next lightning flash, Draco spotted a dingy three-legged table in the corner, leaning at a crazy tilt. "Right," he muttered. He summoned the last of his strength and threw it as hard as he could. It shattered against the stone wall.

At the noise, Ginny stirred. She lifted her head slightly and looked around the room. Draco heard her scratchy voice murmur, "It's beautiful."

"You're delirious," he said, bending down to gather the shards of wood. "Lie back and shut up."

To his surprise, she did.

He piled the wood in the fireplace, but then was at a loss. He tried "_Incendio," but the room stayed dark. Draco groaned. He didn't know why his magic wasn't working, but he __had to get this fire started, and there was only one other way he could think of to do that._

He staggered over to the bed, nearly stumbling over her sword in the dark. "Ginny," he said, shaking her shoulder. She didn't move, but the slow rise and fall of her chest reassured him that she wasn't dead. "Ginny," he said, shaking her harder, "you have to wake up. I need your help."

Her eyes cracked open; she looked at him through her lashes, damp spikes against the purple circles beneath her eyes. Her lips formed the word, "Beautiful."

"You said that already," Draco told her. "Listen to me. There's wood in the fireplace, but you have to set it on fire. My wand isn't working."

Her eyes drifted closed, and Draco gently slapped her cheek. "Hey, Gin, wake up. You need to start the fire or we'll freeze to death. You've been shivering for a while."

"You too," she said, the words no more than a whisper.

"Yes, me too," he confirmed, tilting his head so he wouldn't sneeze on her. Then he turned back and pressed, "Look at me, Gin. Don't go to sleep yet. You have to warm up."

She dragged her eyes open and croaked, "It's wonderful."

"Absolutely," he agreed, wracking his brain for a way to snap her out of her delirium. Had she hit her head hard enough to cause hallucinations? He fervently hoped not; he hadn't the faintest idea how to treat her. Draco lifted her hand and pointed it in the general direction of the fireplace. "Come on," he said, "just…do what you do. Gin, don't drift off. I swear, if you do, I'll make you _so sorry –"_

He trailed off as her eyes floated shut again, and her head dropped to the side. He released her hand with a frustrated groan. Besides a fire, body heat was the only way he could think of to warm her, but he'd have to work up his nerve. The thought of embracing her, skin-to-skin, made Draco's stomach roll. He was terrified of losing control the way he had at the manor…she was _unconscious for goddess's sake. He was afraid of how he'd react, of destroying what little trust in him she might have had, of letting his fear stop him from doing what was necessary to keep her well…he didn't know what to do. Draco sat, absently stroking her hair, avoiding the side soaked by the silver blood, and tried to think of alternatives._

The logs flared to life. He leapt to his feet in surprise, and looked from the cheerful blaze to Ginny, who hadn't moved. Her eyes didn't open, but one corner of her mouth curved up in a smile. "Good girl," Draco said.

"Don't you forget it," she whispered.

He stood there, studying her, trying to pinpoint the odd expression on her face. It took him a minute to figure out why she seemed so unusual. For the first time since he'd met her all those years ago, Ginny looked….peaceful.

He wound the blanket, little more than a rag, around her body, and took her robe for himself. He was keenly offended at her current state; the Pendragon deserved better than a torn sheet in a falling down building, but there was nothing else.

Draco pulled a rickety chair close to the fire and angled it so he could keep an eye on her, huddling under her robe as best as he could. Ginny's lips were still rather blue, and even though she was at least semi-conscious, she was still very cold. If the fire didn't warm them as quickly as Draco hoped, he'd have to think of something else.

He found he couldn't sit; he felt restless in this small room, and got up to pace. _What's the matter with me? he wondered. Time was he had no trouble being still, but she always paced when she was nervous or upset, and now he did too. He hated pacing. It was too indicative of lost control. Draco tried to call up some resentment, but he was too worried. He could see her shoulders shaking underneath the thin cover, and decided he had no choice._

He toed off his shoes and peeled off his soaking wet shirt and socks, then, the same way he'd removed her robe, Draco pulled Ginny up with one hand and used the other to remove her jumper. She wore a thin tank top underneath, and he elected to keep that on, more out of self-preservation than anything else.

Then, gritting his teeth, Draco slid under the blanket beside her, wound his arms around her shivering body, and pulled her against his chest. The sodden folds of her shirt rasped against his skin and his shivering intensified. He curled his body around hers and tried to rub some warmth into the clammy skin on her back. Draco braced himself for what would surely be the longest night of his life, hoped that when she woke up she'd give him a chance to explain before she tried to kill him.

* * * * *

Mike lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. He wasn't successful. First off, he missed Dana. He hadn't realized how very comforting it was to have a warm body to turn to in the night. Without her the room seemed cold, and much darker than usual. He couldn't get comfortable.

Secondly, unpleasant sounds were leaking through the wall that separated his room from the spare bedroom. Potter was a very loud sleeper. He and Ginny had that in common. Mike supposed it wasn't much of a foundation for a relationship, but he figured it was a start. His eyes looked, unseeing, into the dark as he listened to his nemesis thrash around, creaking the bed frame. He wondered if he had any cotton to use for ear plugs. He wondered what had possessed him to open the door for Potter in the first place. Now, two days later, they both had dark circles under their eyes; neither one of them was sleeping well. Correction: Potter wasn't sleeping well; Mike wasn't sleeping at all. Letting him in must have been a moment of temporary insanity. But, no…Potter had played a trump card. _Ginny. She was the one thing that could compel Mike to do just about anything. And, really, Mike knew that Potter was no more a traitor than __he was. It was the right thing to do, hiding him from Malfoy and the Death Eaters._

Mike rolled over and flicked on the lamp, then grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head with a sigh. There wouldn't be any sleep for him tonight. There was a good reason he had never actually slept all night with Ginny more than a few times per week; she was just as bad as her boyfriend. _Boyfriend. The word, when used to define what Potter was to Ginny, was bitterly galling._

Mike was irritated with Potter, but what could he do besides glare into the night? A person can't help the way he sleeps, and Mike tried very hard, though with little success, to avoid blaming Potter for another sleepless night. He'd make some tea. It was Dana's solution to everything. Dana. Christ; he had to stop thinking about Dana, and Ginny, and…well, everyone. It wouldn't help his insomnia.

He was just pouring the boiling water into a mug when a cry split the quiet night. Startled, Mike accidentally spilled the hot liquid across his hand, and swore violently as he thrust it under the tap, dousing the skin with cold water. There had to be a sainthood for him out of all this.

His fingers were an angry red, but they didn't look bad enough to blister. They'd just hurt like hell the next few days. At least it wasn't his wand hand. Thank god for small favors.

Potter shouted again, and Mike sighed. He still had plenty of hot water. He couldn't very well let his houseguest go on yelling; it might attract unwanted attention if his flat were being watched. If nothing else, if he continued as he was, Potter would disturb the neighbors. Mike would have to wake him, and then pour some tea down his throat.

His bare feet made a _thwapping sound against the hardwood floor as he walked up to the spare room and pushed open the door. The sheets lay in a tangled heap where Potter had kicked them off. His face and bare chest were flushed, and slick with sweat. It must be one hell of a nightmare. Just as Mike bent over to shake him, Potter shouted, "Stay away from her!" and lashed out with a powerful fist, catching Mike just below his right eye._

Not expecting the blow, Mike reeled back. He slammed into the bureau, and a small picture frame tumbled off. The glass shattered, and the sound brought Harry back into consciousness. He sat up, eyes bleary and confused, and automatically reached for his glasses. When they were perched on his nose, he frowned. Malfoy had been bending over Ginny, peeling off her jumper…but they were both gone. In their place was Mike, in a t-shirt and sweatpants, sporting a burned hand and the start of a fantastic black eye. He was pulling himself off the floor, and looked pissed as hell.

Mike glared. "Bad dream?"

"Did I hit you?" Harry asked. Mike's expression was answer enough. "I thought you were Draco Malfoy."

Mike's eyes had a murderous glint to them. "How flattering."

Harry couldn't keep a note of irritation out of his voice when he asked, "What do you think you were you doing, leaning over me in the middle of the night?"

"You were having a nightmare, shouting in your sleep. I came in to wake you up and ask if you wanted tea."

Harry felt immediately contrite. "Oh. Sorry."

Mike wasn't in a forgiving mood. He gave Harry a disgusted look, then turned on his heel and left.

Harry sat in bed, in the center of the square of dim moon glow that came in through the open door, and wondered if this meant the offer of tea was rescinded. He'd like some tea; Mrs. Weasley kept Mike well supplied with her special blend, and Harry thought that the connection with the only mother he'd ever known might help shake the terrible cold from his body. What had he been dreaming? Malfoy, shirtless and shoeless, was peeling Ginny's clothes off. Ginny was…he paused, and reached tentatively into the link. There was darkness on the other side. He didn't know where she was, but it certainly wasn't in _this world. Harry could have laughed with relief. If she was in the Otherworld, she was finally, __finally safe from Malfoy._

He put a t-shirt on over his pajama pants, and wandered into the dark kitchen. Mike stood at the sink, running cold water over his bare hand, muttering under his breath.

"Are you talking to yourself?" Harry asked.

"I'm certainly not talking to _you," Mike snapped._

"I said I'm sorry. What more do you want?"

Mike didn't reply. He pulled his hand out of the water, took up his own mug of tea, and sat down at the kitchen table, glaring straight ahead. Harry saw, though, that he'd left enough hot water in the kettle for another cup.

Mike watched Harry make up his own mug, then scowled when Harry took the chair across from him. They sipped their tea in silence. Finally, Harry asked, "What's the matter with you? I apologized. It was an accident. It's nothing a healing charm won't fix."

"Forgive me for being pissed off when someone hits me in the face and then says he's mistaken me for Draco Malfoy," Mike said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What were you doing, dreaming about _him?"_

"He was leaning over Ginny. He was…I mean, I _think he was…um…"_

"Spit it out."

"He could've been taking advantage of her."

Mike set his mug down and looked at Harry carefully. Harry had the creepy feeling that the young man's sharp blue eyes could see right through him, even in the dark. "Oh?" was all that Mike said, an entire paragraph's worth of meaning packed into that one finely tuned syllable.

"I _hate him, and I hate the thought of –"_

"It was just a dream," Mike interrupted.

"It seemed real."

"I thought you only have real dreams about You-Know-Who."

Harry shrugged.

Mike took up his mug again, and they lapsed into tense silence.

"I'm worried about her," they both said at once.

They looked at each other, startled. Then Mike gave a wry smile. "If you were Ron, I'd say you owe me a drink for saying the same thing at the same time."  
  


"What?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing. It distorted the scar, and Mike grimaced as he explained, "It's something we've done since we were kids. If we say the same thing at the same time, one has to get the other a drink."

"A drink of what?"

"Pumpkin juice, when we were little. Butterbeer in school. Now…I don't know. Whatever the other person wants, I suppose."

Harry looked down into his empty mug. "What do you want?"

Mike slid his own mug across the table. "More tea."

Harry got up, uncomplaining, and refilled the cups with hot water and fresh tea leaves. As he sat down, he said, "I'm worried about Ron too, and Hermione. They don't know whether I'm alive or dead. I wish I could contact them –"

"Owls can be intercepted," Mike interrupted in a know-it-all tone. "And Floo is hardly secure. Anyone could be listening in."

"Yeah," Harry agreed glumly. "Still, I wish there was some way to let them know that I'm okay."

Mike didn't reply. There was nothing to say.

Harry asked, "Why are the lights off?"

"Because there's a window in here," Mike said, speaking as though Harry were stupid. "If we turn on the light, anyone watching from the street will see you sitting at my kitchen table. I don't much relish making myself a target for Death Eaters."

Harry was embarrassed. He should've thought of that. Still, he snapped, "I hate to be the one to tell you, Fletcher, but as Agent Jezebel's best friend, you're already a target."

"She's worth it," Mike retorted. "You aren't."

"Your devotion is heartwarming," Harry mocked. Before tonight, he would've died a thousand deaths rather than talk about Ginny with Fletcher. But sleep deprivation and the fact that he couldn't see Mike's face made it easy. "I don't know whether to ask why she's worth it to you, or why I'm not."

"She's my best friend," Mike said. "You wouldn't understand."

"I _understand better than you think," Harry said. "I understand that you're in love with her; you've been in love with her for years. I know it. Dana knows it. Ron and Hermione know it. Ria and Gwen know it. __Everyone knows it but Ginny."_

Mike choked on his mouthful of tea. "You don't know anything, Potter," he said with icy scorn. "She worshipped you for years! She gave you unconditional devotion, and you…you _ignored it. By the time you finally realized what you had, it was too late. She was with __me, and you couldn't stand it. You thought that you could just declare your feelings and she'd follow you forever, but real life doesn't work like that. You can't have something just because you want it."_

"I never thought that –"

"Bullshit." Mike was on a roll. The words spilled out of him in a rush, as though he'd been holding them back for a long, long time, and the dam had finally burst. Harry was astonished to hear the slight catch of tears in Mike's voice as he said, "You're telling me that when you tipped your hand in the Astronomy Tower, told her you'd fallen in love with her, that you didn't expect her to melt and swoon and count herself the luckiest girl in the world? No other outcome even occurred to you, did it? And all those years, when I was with her, but never really _with her…I didn't ask for more than she was willing to give…__you were there, always hanging around, __staring at her. And she…it was like the two of you had this secret from the rest of the world. I never asked what it was, but I knew it was there. It was like a splinter in my head, and she didn't trust me enough to tell me what was going on. I could've __helped her, if she'd let me. I could've…but you never let me get close enough, and now she's off with __Draco Malfoy, and you're having weird dreams, and…" He gave a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. "Forget it. Never mind."_

Harry felt a dull flush creep across his cheeks, and was glad for the dark because it kept Mike from noticing. He'd never imagined that Mike had such a thorough understanding of his character, and his relationship with Ginny. He may be infuriating, but Harry also had to admit to a growing respect for Mike. "It's not that she doesn't trust you," Harry finally said.

A bitter laugh was Mike's only reply.

"I'm serious. She would've told you a hundred times over if she could, but she can't."

This was a revelation. "Who's keeping her quiet?"

"_I'm not," Harry said, taking offense at Mike's tone._

"Then who? Who has that kind of hold over her?" When Harry didn't reply, Mike said, "You can't just tell me something like that and then not elaborate. It's not fair."

"There are a lot of things in life that aren't fair," Harry said.

Mike made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "I'm risking my _life for you right now, Potter. If the Malfoys learned that I was hiding you, it would be the Dementor's Kiss for both of us. Don't insult me any more than you already have. I think I've proved myself trustworthy enough to at least know –"_

"Dumbledore." Harry felt a creeping disloyalty to his friend and mentor, but Mike had a point. He _did have a right to know. He __was trustworthy and, at the moment, he really was risking everything to keep Harry safe until Ginny returned._

Mike swore softly. "I should've guessed it."

"Why do you have such a problem with him?" Harry demanded out of faithfulness to the headmaster.

"He killed my father."

"Death Eaters killed your father. Dumbledore is working to stop them. It seems to me, Fletcher, that you have what Muggle psychiatrists would call 'displaced anger.' " Harry leaned back in his chair. He'd been dying to say that to Mike for years.

"What would you know about it?" Mike asked. "You don't understand."

"Will you stop saying that? I _do understand," Harry said, thinking of Ginny. He wanted to tell Fletcher to get over himself; that he wasn't the only person to lose his family to Voldemort, but decided antagonism was the wrong way to approach the situation. He took a moment to carefully frame his reply. "My parents were killed because they were helping someone else. I don't blame that person; she needs all the protection she can get. I realize that they're dead because Voldemort killed them, not for any other reason. I understand your situation better than you think, Mike."_

Mike kept his face carefully blank. Potter said that the person his parents were helping _needs protection, present tense. He played with his mug, sliding it back and forth between his hands, and wondered if there was anything important about the fact that James and Lily Potter had died the very same night Ginny was born. A pile of coincidences usually meant that something out of the ordinary was in motion._

"What's going on?" Mike asked quietly. "I'm caught up in it now. I'm not going to leave her for anything, and I have a right to know what I've become involved with."

Harry was silent.

Mike asked again, a little more forcefully, "Potter, what's going _on?"_

"Well," Harry began slowly, "I'm on the run from the Ministry of Magic, at least until Ginny comes home. Lucius Malfoy, I imagine, wants my soul sucked out, the sooner the better."

"He might _want that," Mike said. "He's wanted it since you were eleven. But would he be able to actually do it?"_

Harry smirked and, remembering the day in Borgin and Burkes his second year, said, "Maybe not. The name Potter still commands a certain respect."

Mike made a scornful noise into his tea, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, maybe it doesn't command respect with _you, but it does with other people. He couldn't survive the political fallout if he had me killed outright. Even a sham trial would be more than his administration could survive. The plain fact is that the people, or most of them anyway, love me. I know I haven't done anything to deserve it, but there you are. I'm not above using it to my advantage."_

"No," Mike said, "I don't suppose you would be."

Harry knew he'd walked right into that one. However, he didn't want to get sucked into an argument; there were more important things at stake than his pride. He kept his mouth shut.

"I meant," Mike said when he realized Harry wasn't going to continue, "what's going on with Ginny?"

"I can't talk about that."

"I have a right to know, Potter. We've been over this. Don't you get tired of doing what Dumbledore says all the time? Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to make your own decisions?"

Harry sighed, and slid his mug across the table. "Thanks for the tea, and I'm sorry again about your eye." He pushed his chair back and stood.

Mike jumped to his feet. "Dammit, Potter! You can't just walk out of here. You have to tell me –"

"I have to think," Harry interrupted. "We'll talk again in the morning."

"Come back here! Sit down!" Mike ordered.

His only response was the soft click of the spare bedroom door as Potter shut it. Mike slumped back into his chair. He felt wrung out, cheated, and damn but his face hurt. But…Potter hadn't said no, only that he had to think. Maybe the truth was closer than Mike had supposed. He'd waited this long; he could wait until morning. With a sigh, he set the empty mugs in the sink and went back to his bedroom. He lay awake the rest of the night, and from the silence on the other side of the wall, he knew sleep eluded Potter too.

* * * * *

Twittering birds outside the window woke Draco from a sound sleep. His first thought was confused; it was _February. Why in the nine hells were songbirds fluttering outside?_

A warm, pliant female body snuggled against him, nose nuzzled into his neck, and Draco tipped his head down. Her hair wasn't the dark auburn of Delia's, but lighter, shot through with threads of blonde. _Ginny. He tried to ignore how very good she felt, how well their bodies fit together…that way led to madness, as he knew from experience._

She stirred and stretched, catlike, then opened her eyes. He saw hazy confusion, the last remnant of her dreams slipping away, before realization crystallized. "Malfoy," she asked, her scratchy voice low and dangerous, "what are you doing here?"

He rolled up on one elbow and examined the bandage on her forehead with gentle fingers. "Do you remember anything from last night?"

"No." Her body had lost all of its sleep-softness. She lay rigid on the bed, her pride the only thing keeping her from pushing him away.

He looked down at her – tousled hair, cheeks still pink from sleep – and thanked the goddess that she came through the night none the worse for wear. "You fell into the lake and almost drowned. You were shaking so badly, I had to warm you up with body heat. There was no other way."

"There's always another way," Ginny said.

"No," Draco corrected, a note of impatience creeping into his voice, "there wasn't. I held you all night, waiting for you to stop shivering, praying that it would be soon. I didn't fall asleep until I knew you were okay. I was being _kind, Weasley."_

Ginny followed his fingers to her right temple and prodded the laceration on her head. It vanished with a flash of silver and she pulled the bandage off. "You're not a kind person."

"How good of you to notice the difference," Draco said as he sat up. "I'm _not a kind person. But, I can __be kind, when it suits my purpose."_

"That's not how it works –" Ginny began, and Draco interrupted, "Gratitude, Weasley. I'm waiting for it."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't hold your breath. Kindness because of an ulterior motive isn't kind, it's manipulative and self-serving." But then, as she turned her eyes to the rest of the room, her severe expression melted into one of wonder. "Oh my," she breathed.

Draco's worry returned full-force. "Oh my what?"

"Look!" she said. "Look at…where are we? Where did you find this place? It's _beautiful."_

"I don't know," Draco said. "This is just where we washed up. Ginny," he paused, hoping that the blow to her head hadn't permanently damaged anything, "what does this room look like to you?"

She tilted her head and gave him an odd look.

He said, "Humor me."

Ginny glanced around. "Well, it has stone walls, and a window, and a bed –"

"Hardly a bed," Draco said.

She looked puzzled. "What would you call it, then?"

"A cot, on a good day."

"But, Draco, it's…_oh, I understand."_

"What?"

"You can't see it," she said, and her expression was of comprehension, with a little bit of pity thrown in for good measure.

Draco scowled. "I can't see it because there's nothing to see. There's _nothing beautiful about this place. It's a disgusting room in a crumbling ruin."_

"It's quite warm in here," Ginny said, an abrupt change of subject. "Why is that, do you think?"

Draco had no idea. The fire had burned itself out hours ago. She was right, though, the room _was extremely warm. The tree branches that swayed outside the window were heavy with leaves, and a jolt of fear ran down his spine. "Ginny," he said slowly, "do you think we've fallen asleep for more than a night? Could we have slept for months without realizing it? Or even…" He didn't want to say it, but forced the word out, "__years?"_

Ginny blinked in surprise, then looked amused. "No, I don't think that. If we'd fallen asleep for months, the world wouldn't be here for us to wake up to."

"What do you think, then?"

"I think we should find something to eat."

She swung her feet onto the floor grabbed her sword. Without bothering to don her jumper and robe, or even her shoes, Ginny walked out the door. Draco picked his shirt up from the floor and chased after her, barefoot. "Eat?"

"Aren't you hungry?"

He was starving. "Well, yes. But what do you think we'll find to eat here?"

She shrugged. "There's always something."

Just as they cleared the building into the bright, warm morning, Draco demanded, "Do you know where we are?"

She threw her head back and drank in a deep breath of air. "Look at that, Malfoy."

"At what?"

Ginny flung her arms out, embracing the panoramic view. Sparkling rivers flowed down to the lake, and flowers carpeted the grass. Ancient, gracious trees dipped and swayed in a soft breeze, and the warm sun softly kissed the ground. A wall of opaque mist rose from the lake, surrounding the island – for Draco now realized that they were on an island – cutting it off from the rest of the world. Ginny tilted her head and a look of pure bliss crossed her face. She whispered, "There is sweet music here that softer falls/Than petals from blown roses on the grass,/Or night-dews on still waters between walls/Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;/Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,/Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes;/Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies."

Draco recognized the poem, but was confused. "What are you saying?"

Ginny smiled. "I slept well last night, for the first time in years. And that _music! I think we've found the land of the Lotos Eaters, Malfoy."_

"_What? But…but that's a myth!"_

Ginny had already started down the hill, the sword in her hand, but not at the ready. It was plain that she didn't anticipate any threat here. Draco felt quite differently. "Stop!" he called.

She glanced over her shoulder without breaking stride. "What?"

"Why can't I do magic anymore?"

She smiled. "I don't think your wand works here. Your magic belongs to the mortal world."

For the second time that morning, a cold fist of terror clenched in his stomach. "Are you saying we're in the Otherworld?"

Ginny shook her head, the red strands twining with the gold and glistening in the sunlight. "You wouldn't be able to come to the Otherworld. This feels like an in-between place. It's not really here or there. It just _is."_

"What place is that?" Draco demanded. "A straight answer, Ginny."

"It's a sanctuary," she replied. Then, she threw back her head and drew a deep lungful of sweet air. "Just being here is like food. I'm not hungry anymore. I could just stand here and _breathe and __be and –"_

Her bizarre behavior alarmed him. Draco took Ginny's arm and jerked her close enough to examine her forehead for the second time that morning. No mark of the previous night's injury remained. She knew what he was doing and grinned at him, then pulled free. The grass was wet with dew and, with a shout of girlish laughter, Ginny took a running start down the hill and slid toward another ruin, the soles of her feet carrying her over the slick ground. Draco ran after her, not sliding, terrified that she'd slip and impale herself on the sword. He needn't have worried. She handled the weapon with a natural casualness, like it was an extension of her arm. She seemed to know just where she was going, and there was nothing for Draco to do but follow.

There were seven stone buildings in all, arranged halfway up an immense hill. At the top of the hill, vertical stones stood in a ring, reminding Draco of the rocks he'd seen at Stonehenge. Ginny paused at the door to one of the buildings, really no more than a hole in the side. The stones, furred with moss, had been worn smooth by the ages. Draco put his hand on her shoulder to hold her back and stepped in first. Hazy morning light filtered through cracks in the ancient walls, lighting dust motes and the glowing eyes of small animals. Draco noted two squirrels and a rabbit, but no evidence of human habitation. He didn't see any footprints in the dirt that caked the floor, and the walls seemed disturbed only by age. The building had an air of quiet peace about it. Draco's protective instincts were satisfied; there was no danger here.

As they walked down a long, crumbling corridor, Ginny examined the walls with interest. Draco didn't see anything but stone, and wondered at her look of dazzled awe. At the end of the hallway, they reached a enormous room. Ginny stepped inside the towering double doors and froze. Draco walked right into her back. "What?" he asked.

"I've been here before," she said in a hushed voice.

"When?"

They started down the length of the hall. "A long time ago, with the Mórrígan. She said it was my past."

At the end, there was a throne on a raised dais and an immense table, cracked down the center, carved all over with lifelike dragons. "How did this happen?" Draco asked, testing the jagged edge with his finger.

"I don't know," she said, talking quietly even though there was no need. Ginny's eyes were drawn to a small alcove, where a plain goblet sat on an altar of snowy white marble. The cup was carved of wood, lovingly polished to a high, satiny sheen.

Draco grabbed her arm just as she reached for it. "Hands off."

"Why?"

"My father made me read a book, back when he first told me about all this Pendragon stuff. There was a drawing of this cup –"

"It's just a cup," Ginny said, irritated. "You can let go of me now."

"This is _not just a cup. Only those who are pure in mind and body can touch it, and you don't qualify."_

Ginny turned to him with the look he knew meant that she was about to deliver a blistering lecture, so he continued in a harsh whisper, "Ginny, this is the Holy Grail of the Christian faith, brought to Camelot by the knights of the round table and sent to the island of Avalon for safe keeping –" Draco stopped speaking as a terrible expression crossed his face. "Avalon," he repeated, so softly he seemed to mouth the word rather than say it. "Gods and goddesses, Ginny, how did we manage to -"

She tensed. Draco felt the muscles in her arm tighten under his grip as her eyes fixed on something over his shoulder. He whirled around, just catching the slight, shadowy movement on the other side of the room. Taking a deep breath to slow his pounding heart, he leaned down until his lips brushed her earlobe. "Gin," he said, the tickle of his breath raising gooseflesh on her arms, "there's someone else in here."

Ginny's eyes remained fixed on the far side of the room. "Of course there is. Did you think this place maintained itself?"

He caught another flicker of movement out the corner of his eye and, all in one smooth motion, drew his wand, closed his other hand around hers, and hauled her up against his side.

The moment his fingers twined with hers the hall exploded with color, a ruin no longer. Gold and silver glittered on every surface. The walls were hung with rich tapestries, the pictures so vibrant they seemed to be alive. Brilliant sunlight poured in, bathing them with an otherworldly glow. And, closing in on them from all sides were women, tall and elegant, garbed in loose, white robes. Blue crescent moons were tattooed on their foreheads. Draco didn't even bother to ask; he knew right away who they were. The Priestesses of Avalon.

"It _is beautiful," he murmured._

A faint smile drifted across her face. "I told you so." Still, she moved a little closer to him as the women drew near, and didn't let go of his hand. He was glad that they made her nervous too.

The women stopped ten feet away, Ginny and Draco at the center of their circle. Then, heedless of their pristine white garments, they genuflected on the stone floor. Ginny's hand tightened convulsively around his and Draco squeezed back, letting her know that he was here, and it would be all right.

"Put your wand away," she murmured. He didn't argue. In short order, the wand was back in his pocket.

A statuesque woman with waist-length hair emerged from the shadows. She was taller than the rest of the priestesses, and her straight, raven locks had thick streaks of silver-gray. Black, almond shaped eyes glittered from her white-skinned face. Her bearing was one of unfathomable power and wisdom. "Welcome home, Pendragon," the woman said, her voice a low, mellow timbre. "We have been expecting you. Do you know who I am?"

"You're the High Priestess," Ginny answered, her words little more than an awed whisper. She moved to kneel, as the other Priestesses had done for her, and the tall woman caught her elbow.

"Never between us," she said, and kissed Ginny on both cheeks. Her eyes shone with soft happiness. "We are sisters under the goddess, you and I. I am her Priestess, and you are her champion, and together, we serve both of her aspects, the mother and the warrior."

Ginny didn't quite know how to respond to that. She felt giddy and lightheaded, like she was floating outside her body, watching herself from afar. Was this really happening? She released Draco's hand and stepped closer to the holy woman.

The High Priestess gently smoothed Ginny's hair back from her face. "You are much younger than I had imagined. You look so tired."

"I _am tired," Ginny admitted. It didn't even occur to her to put on a brave front, or tell anything but the complete truth. "I've been tired for so long, and afraid. I hardly know what I'm doing anymore."_

"Give your fear to the goddess," the Priestess suggested. "She will take it from you."

"She hasn't yet," Ginny said with quiet anguish.

"Have you asked?"

Silence was Ginny's reply.

"Come with me," the High Priestess said, taking Ginny's hand and leading her away with soundless footsteps. "We have much to discuss." The woman's eyes flicked once to Draco, then her attention once more focused wholly on Ginny as they walked out of the room, talking in low voices. He didn't want to follow them, but he didn't want to be left alone either. His indecision kept him in place, and then it was too late. Ginny and the High Priestess were gone.

The other Priestesses rose to their feet, and looked at Draco curiously. He supposed it had been centuries since they'd last seen anyone of the male persuasion. There was an awkward silence, and to fill it he said the first thing that came into his head. "Do you have anything to eat?"

* * * * *

"You have been fighting everyone for so long," the High Priestess said. "Dumbledore and Voldemort, the goddesses, your protectors, yourself. When does it end, Pendragon?"

Ginny wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees and leaned back against the ancient rock. The Priestess had led her to the top of the hill, and now they sat in the middle of the ring stones, the sacred place of prayer and sacrifice time out of mind. "I wish I knew."

The woman shook her head. "You need to see, Pendragon, that there's no need for such struggle on your part. You'll only exhaust yourself before the battle truly begins."

"There's always need for struggle," Ginny said. "_Always."_

The woman tilted her head and regarded Ginny with gentle curiosity. "Why?"

"Well…" Ginny searched for the right words. "There's always evil to be fought."

The High Priestess shook her head. "Your theology needs some attention, Pendragon. In the Otherworld, there is no evil. There is creation and there is destruction, existing in a delicate balance, both equally vital to existence. There is no Macha without Badb, and no Mórrígan without both of them. You are the guardian of balance, not the champion of good over evil."

This was news to Ginny. "How do you know?"

The woman smiled. "When you have been doing this as long as I have, Pendragon, you learn a thing or two."

It didn't bother Ginny that the Priestess called her by her title rather than her name; it somehow fit this in-between, holy place. "What should I do?"

"Whatever you want," the Priestess said wryly. "There's no one can make you do otherwise."

"I've spent my whole life doing what others wanted."

"I believe that if you examine your words closely, you will see they are untrue. If anyone has ever forced you into anything, it is only because you've let them. You had the eight of swords in your tarot spread for a reason."

Ginny wondered how the Priestess knew about that. She supposed that a lot of information about her had reached this island over the years. "You found out about the tarot reading?"

"Of course," the woman said. "I painted the cards you used."

Ginny didn't try to hide her surprise. "But they were ancient!"

"Yes."

There was a moment of tense silence. "Who are you?" Ginny asked, her soft words barely audible above the spring breeze.

The Priestess stood, and rested her hand briefly on Ginny's shoulder as she walked out of the stone circle. "A millennium ago, when I lived in the mortal realm, I was called Morgan of the Fairies. Arthur Pendragon was my half brother."

Ginny was so astonished, she couldn't speak. Had she really just spent the last half-hour conversing with _Morgan le Fay? In the flesh? Ginny had thought herself beyond surprise, but apparently she'd been mistaken._

The woman continued, "Think, Pendragon, about where you have been, and where you need to be. The goddesses will hear you. They will help you if you let them."

"Wait!" Ginny cried, sitting up on her knees. "Where are you going?"

There was no answer. The Priestess had vanished. Ginny was alone.

* * * * *

The priestesses led Draco back to the room he'd slept in the night before. Gold and silver threaded tapestries graced polished stone walls. The ornate bed sported a thick, inviting feather mattress and a plush red velvet duvet. It didn't even look to be on the same _planet as the hellhole where he'd shivered and worried the night away. A table – could it possibly be the same table he'd broken against the wall? – was set for one. It was a simple meal: some greens, bread, honey, water. His stomach grumbled and he was too hungry to even feel embarrassed._

He turned to the women who crowded the doorway, watching him with wide eyes. "There's only one place set here. Do any of you want to eat with me?" Draco hated eating alone. It depressed him.

A priestess who looked a bit older than the rest stepped forward. She shook her head with a small smile. "The younger women are bound by a vow of silence until the goddess frees them. You would find them poor breakfast companions."

Draco looked at the young women with new interest. "How do they know when the goddess frees them?"

"The Mórrígan never has trouble making her will known to us," the priestess said. "Silence teaches discipline and obedience. It is an important part of our training."

"Where's Ginny?" Draco wondered, sitting down and breaking off a slice of bread.

"She has been taken to the ringstones. There she will fast and pray."

"Pray?" he said, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "I don't think she's ever prayed in her life. Why would she, when she can talk to the goddess in person any time she wants to?"

The priestess shrugged. "As I said, the High Priestess has taken her to the ringstones. We go there to pray on calendar feasts. I am under the impression that the Pendragon is to remain there for a while. What else would she do but pray?"

A slight frown touched the corners of Draco eyes. "For how long? We're sort of pressed for time."

"She will be ready in the goddess's time, not ours," the priestess said with an esoteric smile. "This will be your room while you wait for her. If you need anything, one of us will be nearby." She backed out of the room on soundless feet, and quietly shut the door behind her.

Draco topped his bread with a thick layer of honey, and munched on it as he wandered to the window. He could see the ringstones, standing in gray spikes against the rosepetal morning sky. So Ginny was up there. He'd have to pay her a visit when he'd finished eating. God only knew what the state of the outside world would be once they left the island. This might well be his last chance to talk to her, to convince her to join his faction. He couldn't lie, but he could still manipulate.

* * * * *

She leaned her head back against the stone and looked up at the sky, basking in the wonderful sense of calm she felt in this place, on this hill. Everything seemed clearer here, more real. Colors and sounds were pure and sharp. The new morning sun rose above the mists with a pulsing, fiery beauty that made Ginny wish she could go there, to the sun, and run across the flaming surface…let it burn away her fear and doubt and leave only the best parts of who she was…the Pendragon the world deserved instead of the one they had in her.

"Knut for your thoughts." 

Ginny lowered her head and saw Draco topping the hill. He was out of breath from the steep climb and dropped to the ground beside her. Their backs leaned against the same stone. "Hello," he said.

"Hello," Ginny replied. Her next words came out in a rush. "I don't think you're supposed to be up here. That is, I think I'm meant to be alone just now."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you doing secret things? It looked like you were watching the sunrise."

"That was really all, actually," she said, a faint blush tingeing her cheeks.

"Well then," he said, as though that settled it. "And they didn't say I couldn't come up here. I'm sure someone would've mentioned it if it were important."

Ginny felt a vague sense of unease. She wanted him to go away, but she didn't want to be alone either. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to someone who will talk back," Draco said. "The priestesses have all taken vows of silence. Or the ones I met have, anyway. And we have unfinished business between us."

"What business is that?"

"Our deal," Draco replied. "I took you to the sword and you didn't try to escape. It's been discharged. Now, before we go back out there and you have the chance to run away, it's time for a new deal."

"I don't want anything from you."

  
"No?"

She opened her mouth to reply and he held up his hand to quiet her. "Hear me out. I don't even need you to tell me what you want. I know, and you'll have it if you join me."

"I'm not interested in power. That's what you're going to offer me, isn't it? Well, I don't want it. I don't want any of it."

He didn't smirk, or frown, or taunt. He looked at her as though he could see through her eyes to her most secret wishes. A knowing whisper of a smile curved his thin lips. "How do know, Ginny? How do you know what you want 'till you get what you want and you see if you like it?"

"I'm disappointed, Malfoy. Clichés are more Dumbledore's style than yours."

"Power is a good servant, but a bad master," Draco observed. His voice was remote, casual, as though he was discussing nothing more serious than the sunrise. He didn't want to frighten her off. "If you let it control you then, yes, you'll do evil things with it, because of it. But it can be used for good. Think of everything you could do. You'd restore the balance. You'd overthrow Voldemort. You'd be a major player in the reconstruction of the wizarding world, and you'd be able to shape things however you think would be best. You'd make a difference, a _real difference. Who could wish for more than that?"_

Ginny rested her chin on her drawn-up knees, making her look small and vulnerable, like a sad little girl. "When you know you can't have what you want, what's the point of wishing?"

Draco turned his head to look at her. Although she kept her eyes focused on the sky, Ginny was acutely aware of his breath fanning her cheek. The heat from his body filled the narrow space between them, warming her side. "So young," he said, a teasing smile in his voice, "and so jaded."

"I don't feel young."

"Well, you are. You're extremely young. Practically an infant, compared to someone like Dumbledore. You have to stop this, Ginny…this feeling sorry for yourself. It's getting old. You're never going to be any good to anyone, least of all yourself, if you keep it up."

Draco used his finger beneath her chin to lift and turn her face toward his. In a maneuver calculated to throw her off balance, he brushed lips against the corner of her mouth and murmured, feeling her smooth, cool skin beneath his mouth, "Think of everything you could do. Think of what you could be to wizardkind, if you said yes."

Then, in one fluid motion, he stood and left. It nearly killed him not to look back. If he had, he would've seen her sitting there, head turned to the side, just the way he'd left her. Her eyes stared ahead, blank and unseeing, as she struggled to wrap her mind around his offer. After a long time, Ginny flopped back on the grass, exhausted. She didn't know what to think or do. There was so much to absorb, so many plans to make and options to weigh, but in the meantime, the grass was sweet and the flowers' intoxicating perfume wafted through the air. The sun was warm and Ginny, for the second time since she'd reached the island, drifted into an undisturbed sleep.

* * * * *

Harry was awake when the sun came up. Ordinarily, he loved sunrises. They meant new life, second chances, and fresh starts.

This morning, he dreaded the sunrise in a way he'd never thought possible. Each minute that ticked by brought him closer to his inevitable confrontation with Fletcher. He didn't want to tell Ginny's secret. Not because he disliked Mike (although he did) but because it was something Mike deserved to hear from Ginny. For all his waiting and patience, he should have at least that much.

But Ginny wasn't there. Mike was putting his life on the line for someone he neither liked nor trusted, and he was owed an explanation. It was the decent thing to do. Ginny's best friend should know before the general public. He deserved to be told what was going on. He'd deserved to know it a long time ago, and if the problems with the balance and Voldemort's dark sacrifices continued as they were, odds were good that Mike would learn soon enough anyway. Harry was probably only hastening the revelation by a few weeks.

The smell of sizzling bacon reached his nose. Mike was up.

Harry had never been one to shirk his duty, no matter how unpleasant. He wasn't about to start today.

* * * * *

Dana walked into Mike's building, trailing her hand along the wall for balance. She was still dizzy, her pupils dilated. When she'd checked out of the hospital, she'd learned that, when Harry brought her in, he'd told the staff that she was potentially dangerous and under suspicion for conspiring with a Death Eater. The mediwizards had pumped her full of their strongest sedatives out of fear for their safety. The potions still hadn't completely left her system. Dana didn't blame the doctors; they were civilians, after all. But she burned with the cold fire of Slytherin fury whenever she thought of Harry. She'd make him sorry for doing this to her, once she'd fully recovered.

The doors slid closed and Dana leaned wearily against the back. She felt the slow movement of the old lift under her feet as her head lolled against the wall. Her eyelids were heavy and more than anything she wanted to sleep. She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it and her eyes focused enough to see that she was passing the third floor. By the time the lift reached the fourth she was drifting again. The smoky haze of sleep filled her eyes and thoughts. The inside of the lift swam in and out of focus while she watched the numbers tick by. The gray walls blurred into a steel-colored fog. Dana realized it wasn't the haze of sleep that surrounded her, but rather a grayish mist that clung to her skin, cold and wet.

Dana wrapped her arms around her chest and took a tentative step forward. "Hello?" she called. There was no answer.

She heard a soft scraping noise, and followed it until she reached a low table, topped with a chessboard. Dana knelt down and looked at the pieces, then gasped. They were alive! She watched them move, as by an unseen hand, their feet scraping across the black and white squares. She watched a white bishop, a statuesque, dark-haired woman, move to the square adjoining a white knight, a young woman with red hair. Dana bent down, her nose barely an inch from the piece, and frowned when she saw that the knight was Ginny. It was a perfect representation, right down to the miniscule silver tattoo on her hip. She also recognized Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, as the two white castles.

A black pawn slid to the space beside the black queen, and Dana made a strangled sound. The queen was the twisted goddess of her vision, and the pawn…she was the pawn! There was another black pawn a few spaces away that looked just like Delia. Dana reached out to touch the living miniature of herself, and out of nowhere, a large, white hand closed around her wrist.

Pain like she'd never known lanced through her, starting at her arm and cutting across her body. It was like being torn apart. She was drowning, freezing, burning, dying. The darkness swallowed Dana's agonized screams. She fell to her knees, and the hand released her. "Don't touch," a voice whispered in her ear, fluttering her hair, making her spine creep with cold terror.

"Where are we? What is this?" Dana asked, cradling her hand. "Who are you?"

The goddess crossed to the other side of the table. "This is a chessboard. The grand game, waged between two masters, the rival queens." She fingered the white queen, "My sister, the Mórrígan," the white knight that wasn't Ginny, "aided by my other sister, Macha. And I, mortal, am the Great Destroyer, the goddess Badb." She trailed her hand lightly over the black queen. "The better question to ask is, who are you?"

"I don't understand," Dana said, her words hoarse. "Please –"

"You," Badb interrupted, "are my pawn."

"Wait," Dana said, struggling to her feet. "I don't understand. I'm no one's pawn."

"Wrong," Badb said, trailing her finger over Dana's cheek. Her face felt like it was melting off. She let out a strangled shriek, and the goddess laughed. "You are my pawn. I made you. I gave you and your sister power, and now it's time to show your gratitude. Nothing comes without a price."

"What price?" Dana wanted to get away, but how?

"Service to me."

"No," Dana declared. "Take the power back. We don't want it, if that's what it costs."

Badb gave a cruel laugh. "It doesn't work that way, Dana. I have given you the power, and now you will use it to help me."

"I won't. We won't."

The goddess walked behind the table and leaned over Dana's shoulder, trapping her against the board. "You won't be able to help yourself. Look, mortal. When pawns get to the eighth square, they become whatever piece the master chooses. You and your sister will become knights. My knights. You've already reached the sixth square. You're so close, and soon, Dana…soon…"

"No," Dana whispered.

"Pawns can only move forward. You and your twin will go to the eighth square, Dana, because there's nowhere else you can go."

A chime sounded from far away. Dana shook her head in defiance. She would _not be the black knight. She opened her eyes and looked up, determined to fight the dark queen. _

The goddess was gone. In her place were the doors sliding open onto Mike's hallway. Fear and adrenaline chased the weariness from her body. Dana stumbled out of the lift.

* * * * *

Harry played with his fork. He had no appetite. Mike wasn't eating either. He just sat, arms folded across his chest, and waited for Harry to start talking.

Harry had no idea how to begin. "Do you believe in fate, Fletcher?"

"No," Mike said without even pausing to think.

Harry was surprised. "You don't think people are put on earth for a specific reason, to accomplish a certain thing?"

"No."

"Why not?" The idea of someone not believing in destiny was a foreign idea to Harry.

"Because I make my life what it is. Predestination is for people who don't want to take responsibility for being unhappy."

"Oh."

Harry went back to toying with his food.

"Is that all you wanted to say, Potter?" Mike was exasperated. "Come on."

"I don't know how to explain."

"I'm a reasonably intelligent person," Mike said. "If you just start talking, I'm sure I'll follow you without too much trouble."

Harry took a deep breath. "It started with my parents."

"Your parents?"

"I'm not going to get through this if you keep interrupting!" Harry said. "Do you want to talk, or do you want to listen?"

Mike was quiet.

"This is…complicated. Have you ever heard of the Pendragon prophecy?"

There was silence. After almost a full minute, Mike said, "Can I talk now?"

"_Yes," Harry snapped, exasperated. "When I ask you a direct question, you can talk."_

"Then, yes, I have."

"Okay." At least he wouldn't have to go over all that with Fletcher. "Before I was born, Professor Trelawney predicted that I was destined to be a protector of the Pendragon. It's why Voldemort went to my parents' house that night; he wanted to get me out of the way, so that she could be under his control."

Mike's eyes widened as his quicksilver mind made the connection. "Oh my bloody god and fuck. It's Ginny."

Harry blinked. He was used to Hermione's mind jumping from point A to point E without having to stop at B, C, and D, but he'd never realized that Mike was just as fast to catch on. "Yes."

Mike's forehead dropped forward onto the table. "And Dumbledore wouldn't let her tell anyone. It's why she wouldn't quit the Division, isn't it, even though she hated it. And why she was so secretive all the time…and why she could never tell me why she was so unhappy…"

Harry didn't know what to say.

"I'm so _stupid!" Mike groaned. "I should've figured it was something like this."_

"You're not stupid," Harry said automatically. "But you don't believe in fate. This kind of thing never would've occurred to you."

"I might not believe in fate," Mike said, lifting his eyes to look at Harry from beneath lowered brows, "but I believe in the Mórrígan." His mouth dropped open. "Oh," he whispered, "if Ginny is really this thing, then she's _met the goddess. I mean, she's spoken to her, face-to-face." His expression hovered somewhere between horror and awe._

"All the time," Harry said.

"There are two protectors," Mike murmured, his mind still sifting through the puzzle pieces he'd collected through the years, finally fitting them together. "You're the one, and the other…"

"Malfoy," they both said at once.

"I could lose her over this," Mike said. His face creased in an expression very like fear. Harry had never seen Mike afraid, though, and wasn't sure what to make of it. "Just like my father."

"You're not going to lose her," Harry said. "Listen to me, Fletcher. You're _not. I'm not about to keep her from her best friend."_

"I didn't think you would," Mike snapped. "If you were that type of person, she wouldn't have fallen in love with you."

"Then what –"

"Not everything is about _you, Potter. She could __die. What if something happens to her? What if –"_

"No," Harry interrupted. He made his voice as convincing as possible. "She's not going to die. I'm not going to let that happen. Do you understand, Mike? I give you my word that I won't let her die."

A crow shrieked through the room, nearly taking Mike's head off on its way to the table. With a surprised yell, Mike jumped to his feet so quickly that his chair crashed back onto the linoleum floor.

Harry didn't move. He recognized the crow right away, although he'd only seen it twice before in his life. "She's not here to deliver mail."

The blood drained from Mike's face. "The window isn't open." Although he'd never seen this particular bird before, he also knew who it must be. "Why is there a war goddess in my kitchen?"

_He is extraordinarily perceptive, Mórrígan said._

Harry gasped. Her voice, cold and wild, felt like it was splitting his mind apart. "What are you doing here?"

_I've come to tell you, at these words, Harry felt an invisible hand pulling his head forward and down, until he looked the bird in the eye, __my sister's pawns will not stay pawns for long._

__

"Her…pawns?" Harry asked. He didn't want to admit to the goddess that he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Is she _talking to you?" Mike croaked._

Harry ignored him.

_The ones with Otherworldly power.__ The aberrations she created to thwart the balance –_

__

"Dana and Delia are the only other people with silver magic," Harry said.

_Yes._

He frowned. "And…I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

_They are a danger to you and to the other protector, but most of all, they are a danger to __Virginia__. They are not safe__, no matter how harmless or helpless they may seem. You must__ stop them._

__

A key turned in the front door lock, and Harry jerked his head towards the entranceway. When he looked back, the bird was gone. Mike stood, frozen in place, his breathing shallow. Harry hoped he wasn't going into shock.

The door to the flat creaked open. Harry's mind raced. There was only one other person with a key. Dana. In the blink of an eye, his wand was in his hand and he was creeping to the kitchen door.

* * * * *

Ginny woke the next morning. She didn't open her eyes right away, and the sunlight made red fireworks against the inside of her lids. Had she really slept an entire day? Well, she wouldn't have if she hadn't needed it. Her crushing exhaustion was gone. She felt energized, and very, very hungry.

There wasn't any food. There was a pond in the corner of the clearing, but Ginny didn't touch it. Its surface was unnaturally smooth, undisturbed even in the spring breeze. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the water was holy.

On the other side of the clearing was a stone basin. When Ginny peered in, she saw her face reflected, gray from the stone beneath the clear water, a shallow mirror made of collected dew. She drank as much as she could scoop with her cupped hands. The water tasted like the outdoors, cool and green and pure. It was delicious, but hardly satisfying. Her hunger was a dull, aching twist in her stomach. It sharpened her mind and senses to an astonishing degree.

"Good morning," Draco said from behind her.

Ginny turned slowly. "You're back, are you?"

"It's not as though I have anything better to do," he said. "They don't talk down there, you know."

"And you're such a social creature."

"Maybe not, but I do enjoy occasional conversation." He leaned against one of the stones. "Have you thought about our discussion yesterday?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Ginny folded her arms across her chest. "And you're not the only one who can recite clichés. You may know what you need, Draco, but to get what you want you should see that you keep what you have."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"You need me to overthrow Voldemort. But you also need your faction, or who will prop you up after the war is done? And what do you suppose they're doing right now without you there to lead them? How do you propose to keep them happy when, in reality, your goals are never going to come true?"

He stiffened. "Now listen to me –"

"No," she interrupted. "You said your piece yesterday. Now it's my turn. None of this matters. You or Voldemort…it's so painfully insignificant in the greater scheme of things. What matters is righting the balance and getting Badb out of this world. Compared to what we have in store from her, Voldemort is nothing. It doesn't matter who will take his place, because there won't be a place to take, Draco. Everything will change. And what will they do when they realize that you can't deliver on the promises you've made?"

His steely eyes narrowed. "You think I haven't planned for that? Give me a little credit at least, Ginny. I've never promised any of them anything but power. I've promoted every one of them more times than I care to think. I've held up my end of the contract, whether the coup succeeds or not."

"But –"

"I'm not here to talk about them," he interrupted. "I'm here to talk about you. Tell me what you want and it's yours."

"Harry," Ginny said. "Pure and simple. I want Harry. I want to be with him, and I want to be happy with him. If I joined your faction I'd never have that, and he's more important to me than anything else in the world. I don't want fame, wealth, or power. I just want Harry, and you can't give him to me because he's not yours to give."

For the first time since this whole mess had started, Draco looked flustered. "But…but…you're the bloody _Pendragon! You don't need to be with him!"_

"No," Ginny agreed. "I _don't need to be with him. If I did, then what's between us would be meaningless because I wouldn't have a choice in the matter. But I __want to be with him. I choose him, and I love him. I love him more than I ever thought it was possible to love another person, and that might not mean anything to you, but it means a hell of a lot to me."_

"But –"

"You're going to _debate this?" she asked incredulously._

"You want Harry, do you?" he asked, his lips twisting in a scornful sneer. His eyes were hard as he stalked across the clearing. "What do you know about Harry? What can you _possibly know about what you're getting yourself into with him?"_

"Shut up."

"Not yet."

"Malfoy –"

"You love Harry," he said with frozen contempt. "You had a pathetic crush when you were a child, Ginny. You made yourself a laughingstock over him. You threw away any right you had to be taken seriously. Because of him, you had enough angst to bring back a dozen Tom Riddles."

Ginny turned very white; her freckles stood out against her cheeks in dark splotches. "Don't you dare –"

"It's _his fault, Ginny. It's all his fault. He ignored you, threw your devotion in your face a hundred times, in a hundred small ways. He __didn't care about you__. He has a piece of Tom Riddle inside of him, and it's his fault you were almost __killed your first year. It's his fault the balance is disturbed, and the world might end! He has some kind of sick hold on you, but it's not too late to break free. Join me. __Choose me."_

Ginny's eyes were glassy, her breathing shallow. He'd touched a nerve. "I'm not joining your faction, Malfoy," she said, her voice raw. "Not now, not ever. I have more important things to do than play these stupid mortal power games."

Draco opened his mouth to speak again, but Ginny shook her head to silence him. "No. You need to go."

"Why?"

Her eyes drifted over to the still, silver water of the pool. The breeze wound through her hair, separating the red strands from the gold, lifting them, twining them around each other. She looked like one of the fey, belonging more to this in-between place than she did to the world of humans. She was a creature of the Otherworld, trapped in a haunted mortal body. Her eyes, eyes that had seen things no one else had dreamed of, looked through him rather than at him. "I want to be alone. The goddess and I have to talk. Come back tomorrow."

Her dismissal was so abrupt, her tone so authoritative, Draco obeyed without question. He felt hollow, exhausted inside. By her unconditional refusal, she'd just shut down any chance he'd had to overthrow the Dark Lord. She'd looked him in the eye and calmly laid waste to his life's work. He didn't know what to do. There was a sense of unreality to the whole thing; a small voice inside whispered _Maybe she didn't mean it. Maybe she'll change her mind but, logically, he knew he didn't stand a chance. He had to think._

* * * * *

"What are you doing?" Mike whispered.

"Taking preventive measures," Harry replied, his face set into grim, determined lines.

He stepped into the hallway and faced the pale, trembling girl who stood before him. "Harry," Dana said, her voice shaking with fear, "help me."

This hadn't been what he was expecting to hear. "Help you?"

"The goddess Badb –"

The rest of her words were swallowed by Mórrígan's voice in his mind. _It has already begun._

__

"Wait," Harry said aloud. "Wait. She's asking for _help! She didn't come here to…I mean, I can't just…"_

Dana's silver eyes seemed to swallow her whole face as she begged softly, "Please, help me. I don't know what to do. I'm caught up in something I don't understand, and I'm so afraid. I can't…"

"Just a second," Harry said. "Why do you need my help?"

"In the lift…I don't know what's going on, but it's bigger than I am and I'm scared. I don't know who else to ask. My sister and I –"

_Harry! the goddess shouted. And then, a scene quickly flashed behind his eyes._

Dana, standing among trees, ankle-deep in a carpet of snow. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed. Before her stood a giant of a woman, a goddess, dressed in scarlet. Hate and destruction and hellfire burned in her red eyes. She rested her hand on Dana's shoulder and Harry heard one, terrible word. "_Mine."_

"Is it real?" Harry asked, horrified.

_It will be, if you don't act now._

He looked at Dana's pale, terrified face, and braced himself.

"Is what real?" Dana asked. "Harry?" She trailed off as he slowly raised his wand. "Harry, what are you doing?"

"Potter?" Mike asked from the kitchen doorway. "What's going on?"

He edged into the hall and Harry snapped, "Go back in the kitchen."

Mike ignored him and kept coming closer, slowly working his way between Harry and Dana. Harry shouted, "Fletcher, she's _not safe! __Get in the kitchen, **now!" At his tone, Mike froze, and Harry seized his opportunity.**_

"_Petrificus__ –"_

Before he could get the second word out Dana, her reaction time honed by years of Auror training, threw herself to the ground. A fiery sphere of silver power shot from her hands and, by instinct, Harry hurled himself at Mike, knocking them both to the ground and covering Mike's body with his own. He swung his wand up just as Dana let loose with another spell. He couldn't get out of the way fast enough, and the Cruciatus curse hit him square in the chest with an Otherworldly explosion of pain. He screamed. It was torment like nothing ever suffered on the mortal plane. Mike wriggled from beneath him and, rising to his knees, yelled, "Make it stop!"

Dana didn't move. She looked up at them from across the floor, hate and fear burning in her eyes.

"Dana!" Mike shouted over Harry's shrieks. "You're going to kill him!"

"He was going to kill me," Dana said flatly.

Mike wrenched his wand out of his back pocked and yelled, "_Finite Incantatum."_

Harry went abruptly silent, the twitching aftershocks of his body the only proof that he was still alive.

Mike stumbled to his feet, and Dana did too. There was a smoking hole in the wall where her first curse had hit, and he could see straight through to the living room beyond. Dana only got two steps before a jet of yellow light tore across the room from where Harry lay on the floor. She ducked out of the way with a yell of surprise and fired back.

The two Aurors weren't even shouting incantations; the spells were fueled solely by their driving need to incapacitate each other. Mike knew he didn't stand a chance, so he did the only sensible thing; he dropped flat on the floor and covered his head.

Suddenly, all was silent. A thin, smoky haze filled the entryway and scorched air stung Mike's nostrils as he cautiously got to his feet. Harry and Dana lay on opposite sides of the room. Dana was on her stomach, her long hair an auburn puddle around her head. Harry was on his back, his arm flung across the floor, wand still clenched in his fist. Mike saw by the subtle rise and fall of Harry's chest that he was alive. He stumbled over to Dana and reached for the pulse in her neck. He sank to his knees in relief when he felt it beating beneath his fingers, steady and sure. She would be all right.

He looked across the floor to Harry and, in that split-second, knew there was only one thing he could do. Mike picked up his wand and whispered, "_Ennervate."_

Dana stirred. Her eyes cracked open and she looked up at Mike through her lashes. "Did I kill him?"

"No. He's stunned. Dana, what's happening?"

"You can't help me." Dana pulled herself to her feet. "You're not powerful enough."

Based on what he'd seen and heard the past few minutes, Mike wholeheartedly agreed. Dana backed towards the open door but, before she could leave, Mike caught her wrist. "Why are you doing this?"

"I don't trust myself," she said, "and I don't trust Potter. I can't stay here."

Mike took a deep breath and hoped he was making the right choice. "All field agents in the Auror Division have been declared outlaws. Be careful; it means the Dementor's Kiss if you're caught."

She nodded, mute.

"And Dana," Mike added quietly, "don't come back here again."

She felt hurt, and more alone than ever. "You'd turn me in, Mike?" Dana didn't wait for an answer. She was gone before he could say another word. There was only one place she could go, only one person strong enough to help her. There was no other choice. She'd go to Hogwarts and seek asylum with Dumbledore.

Mike sat on the floor and watched the grandfather clock, miraculously unscathed after the small battle that had been waged in his front hall. After she'd been gone half an hour, he _ennervated Harry._

He sat up so quickly, Mike scrambled back.

"Where is she?" Harry demanded.

"Gone," Mike answered. "You knocked each other out. I woke her up first."

"You _let her go?" His face was an unpleasant shade of purple; he was furious._

Mike pressed his lips into a thin line. "She was asking for help and you _attacked her! What was I supposed to do?"_

"How dare you?" Harry shouted. "How _dare you interfere after what she did?"_

"I care about her!" Mike yelled back. "I know that she broke the law to protect a Death Eater, but I wasn't about to let you hurt her when she came here to ask you for help. I just couldn't."

"You _care about that Slytherin traitor? I shouldn't be surprised. She as red hair and Otherworldly power, so I suppose she's the best you can do at a Ginny substitute."_

Mike looked stricken. His shoulders sagged and his blue eyes met Harry's, reflecting confusion and mute misery. He swallowed hard. "Would you like to twist the knife when you wrench it out of my chest?"

"What do you want me to say?" Harry asked. "The goddess stood right in front of me and gave me an order, and you stopped me from carrying it out. This isn't a game, Fletcher. Life and death is in the balance, and one wrong move will throw it all to hell."

Mike shook his head. He stood and, on soundless feet, left the room. Harry heard the soft click of the bedroom door as Mike shut it behind him.

* * * * *

Ginny wasn't thinking. She held her mind separate from her body and focused on her breathing, on the wind gently whispering across the grass, on the soft, reassuring thump of her own heartbeat. She spent the rest of the day and that entire night sunk in this meditative state, and when the sun rose over the tops of the ringstones for the third time, she knew she was ready.

She walked on unsteady legs to the side of the sacred pool and leaned over it. The water reflected her face like a fine mirror. "Mórrígan," she said softly. "Mórrígan, please, I need you."

Ginny's reflection rippled in the still water, and slowly melted into the vague shadow of the Mórrígan, an echo from the pond in the Otherworld. "I don't believe you've ever asked for my help before, Virginia," the goddess said. "Tell me what troubles you."

"I spoke with your High Priestess, and she said some things that…well, I'm not sure whether they're true or not."

"She wouldn't lie," Mórrígan declared.

"I'm so used to fighting. I'm afraid that I don't know how to do anything else."

"Then fight," Mórrígan said simply. "But choose your battles carefully."

"I feel so helpless sometimes," Ginny said.

The goddess shook her head. "Why do you pity yourself so, Virginia? You are _not helpless. You are the Great Dragon, champion of the Phantom Queen of the Otherworld. You were selected for this destiny. It was not a mistake. It was not a fluke. It couldn't have been anyone but you. There is no one else who could discharge it as you will. I do not question the Universe's decisions in this matter; I suggest you do the same. It knows what it's doing, and it chose __you to safeguard the balance. __You are the one. Why wish for another life, when you aren't suited to any but this one?"_

"I don't," she shot back. A little of the color started to come back into her cheeks, and a spark of life reached her brown eyes. "Maybe I used to pity myself, and maybe I used to complain, and maybe I –"

Mórrígan smiled wryly. "My island has burned that out of you, has it?"

"Am I really all those things?" she asked in a soft voice. "The Great Dragon? Champion of the Phantom Queen?"

"That's not my decision to make," the goddess said, her red eyes suddenly grave. "Are you those things, Virginia?"

This was a moment that would define an entire lifetime. She could say whatever she wanted. She could deny it, or she could embrace who she was. The entire Otherworld held its breath and waited for her answer, and all of existence narrowed in on the hilltop of the island between the worlds.

"Yes," Ginny finally said. "Yes, I am." And as she said the words she knew with a soul-deep surety that they were true.

"Then you are," Mórrígan said. "Carry that knowledge with you, and all will be well. We'll talk again soon."

The pond rippled, and the goddess was gone.

"You told me to come back in the morning," Draco said from behind her.

She straightened and turned to look at him. He felt himself rooted to the spot. As a reluctant Pendragon, Ginny had been imposing. This morning, she was downright awe-inspiring. Her power made the air around her shimmer like heat waves, and her gaze was direct, with no hint of nerves or awkwardness.

Draco asked quietly, "Why are we here?"

She took a step toward him, and the spell was broken. She was regular Ginny once again. "I don't know. Macha brought us here. We'll find out why in her time, not ours."

"Were you really praying?"

Her smile was tired. "Would you believe me if I said yes? This is a sacred place, Malfoy."

He didn't have to stretch to understand her meaning. "You don't think I belong here."

She sighed. "No, I don't. I think that you're profaning it by your presence, but that's not my decision to make."

"Has it ever occurred to you," Draco said, "that I'm making the best of circumstances beyond my control? I didn't ask to be born a Malfoy, or to be your protector, but I am both of those things. I didn't ask to have Voldemort offer me a choice between death and slavery. Have you ever thought that I'm doing my best to play the hand I've been dealt?"

"No," Ginny replied without hesitation. Like him, she didn't raise her voice, but spoke with calm, simple frankness. "You've committed crimes, Draco. You've raped, tortured, and murdered, all without a twinge of conscience. You may have been disgusted by blood or gore, but not by the action itself. You didn't do these things because you were born into them. You kill because you choose to, and no other reason. You didn't become second in command because you were playing the hand you've been dealt. You did it because you're addicted to power, and the control it gives you over other people."

He didn't argue. Instead, he asked, "Have your prayers come true?"

"They may have. I won't know for a while."

They faced each other in silence. Ginny felt like a spring that had been wound too tight. She wanted to be _doing something. She wanted to get off this island and back to the real world. Finally, Draco sighed. "I spent a long time thinking yesterday."_

"About what?"

"You've ruined everything I've spent my life working for. You just laid it to waste, so casually. I should hate you. I spent all last night _trying to hate you. I know it's only because of the link and otherwise I'd despise you just as much as I ever did, but I can't anymore. I don't think there's ever been anyone who's ever understood me enough to say what you just said, and I should loathe you for seeing through me, but…."_

"I know."

"You do?"

She nodded. "I feel the same way."

"You're saying you don't hate me?" he asked in surprise.

"It's like you said. I can't help it. You're a part of me. I know I should, but I can't."

Draco was pleased, but didn't want to examine that feeling too closely. Instead, he asked, "When can we go home?"

"Soon," Ginny replied. "Tonight. I just have to figure out…"

"I know you don't want to leave," he interrupted. "Part of you belongs to this place. But, Ginny, we have to go. Who knows what's happening outside the mists? You can't take yourself out of the world. The goddess sent you here because you needed clarity, and you've found it. There's no other reason to stay."

"Yes there is."

Draco frowned. "What?"

Ginny told him the whole story – Mórrígan's need to strengthen their link, Macha's alternate plan – and finished with, "We're here to do something specific. If we leave without this connection, then Mórrígan will just take over again."

"And that would be bad?" Draco asked.

"It _was bad," Ginny said. "You know it was; you felt it too. It was like being in the middle of a hurricane and a nightmare, all at once."_

"You're changed," he said. This morning, she was so unlike the Ginny he'd seen back at the Manor. She was calm, collected, straightforward…confident. "You're different. What has this place done to you?"

Ginny shrugged, a careless, innately graceful gesture. "It's the air up here. It makes us honest with ourselves."

"Did the High Priestess say that?"

"She didn't have to. I'm ready to go back down," she said, abruptly turning away.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked.

"I've been up here long enough." She started down the hill, and he followed.

The High Priestess awaited the pair at the bottom of the hill. She'd been expecting them. "Come," she said, holding her hand to Ginny. "You need a scabbard and nourishment before you leave us again."

* * * * *

Badb leaned over the chessboard and considered her next move. Her fingers danced across the pieces until she settled on a thick, wide-set black pawn with a young man's face. She moved it one space ahead and set it beside the black bishop.

* * * * *

Goyle lumbered into the dungeon of Malfoy Manor. He was confused. He hadn't been back in the country for long, but he'd seen enough to realize that the Dark Lord hadn't yet used the Pendragon to seize control.

He said as much to Lucius Malfoy. The older man's astonishment was plain, even to one as dim as Goyle. "Come with me," Malfoy had said, and whisked him into the inner sanctum.

Now, Goyle knelt at the feet of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and answered the question put to him. "But Agent Jezebel was Ginny Weasley. I told Draco that she was the Pendragon the same night she landed in the billiards room. I don't understand; where is she?"

Voldemort sucked in a breath, and raised his red, slit-like eyes to Lucius. "So, your son has betrayed me after all. He has fled with the Pendragon, under my very nose. No doubt they are far away by now."

The elder Malfoy was everything cool and calm. "What is your plan to bring them back?"

Voldemort's lips peeled back in a grotesque parody of a smile. "We give them an incentive."

Lucius paled, and Voldemort laughed. "I'd use you as bait, but I doubt she's affected him so much that he'd risk his own life for yours."

Malfoy relaxed. "So our orders are?"

"Take her family tonight."

* * * * *

The High Priestess, Ginny, and Draco first visited an armory, deep in the catacombs beneath the temple complex. "None of these are the original scabbard," Morgan said, gesturing to the shelves. "They won't keep you from being wounded in battle, as the other would have. Still, they're serviceable."

Ginny tried on several, but she didn't like any of them. "The sword hits my legs when I walk," she complained.

Finally, she unearthed a sling that held the weapon at the hilt and tip, leaving the blade exposed. Ginny strapped it to her back and took a few experimental steps, testing its balance. The clear blade flashed in the torchlight. This was the one she wanted.

"You'll have to learn to draw it without beheading yourself," Draco said.

Ginny made a face at him when the Priestess's back was turned. They followed the tall, white-garbed woman even deeper into the Earth, until the hard packed dirt floor of the tunnel stopped.

They were in a small room. A sarcophagus rose from the center of the floor and a giant statue of a woman stood guard at the other end. A fountain bubbled at her feet.

The High Priestess stepped aside and motioned for Ginny and Draco to enter before her. They walked slowly, their bare feet making no sound against the cold floor. They were both swamped with the feeling that they were on the most hallowed ground of the island.

Ginny drew even with the sarcophagus and looked down into the bearded face of the man carved on the lid. "It's King Arthur." She would've known him, those kind, tired eyes, even if she hadn't recognized the stone sword in his hands as an image of the one now strapped to her back.

"Yes," confirmed the Priestess.

The pair continued across the floor. Without thinking, Ginny slipped her hand into Draco's. Even though they didn't know exactly what to expect, they were both keenly aware that something solemn and life-changing was about to happen.

"The Mórrígan," Ginny said, looking up into the statue's face.

"She was carved by the great Merlin himself," the High Priestess said, "with those tools you see before her."

Sure enough, a hammer and chisel lay on the altar in front of the fountain.

"Drink," the Priestess said, an invitation and an order.

Ginny and Draco shared a glance. Even though their link was closed off, she read the look in his eyes. He wanted to know if it was safe. She gave a slight nod, then dropped to her knees before the pool. She cupped her hands, dipped them in the water, and drank. The cold water was wonderfully clear, the most refreshing, nourishing thing she'd ever tasted. It was like drinking liquid sunlight. "What is this?" Ginny asked.

"Clarity," the High Priestess replied. "You are the only mortals alive to drink from the cauldron of the great mother goddess. It bonds you. What's more, it binds you. You can go now, knowing that you've done the goddess's will."

Draco looked awed, and a little scared. Ginny, though, felt a wonderful peace spread through her. For the first time since she could remember, she felt comfortable in her own skin.

"Are you ready?" Draco asked.

"Not yet," Ginny said.

She picked up Merlin's tools from the goddess's feet, and carefully chiseled the thin line of a scar across the back of one of the statue's hands. The tapping of metal on stone echoed against the walls, the only sound in the chamber. She returned the tools to the altar.

Ginny drew herself up as tall as she could, turned to Draco, and said, "Now I'm ready."

* * * * *

A/N part 2: Stay tuned for chapter eight. Bad things happen at the Burrow, Blaise gets mad and Dana gets even, each proving themselves to be true Slytherin badasses, Ron sees something he shouldn't, Bill learns the truth about Ginny, Draco bleeds, and Harry and Ginny are finally reunited! (Along with a whole lot of other stuff that I won't tell here, because I don't want to spoil the _real surprises.)_

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. You all rock my world. Each and every one of you is appreciated.

Drop me a note anytime at irina_author@yahoo.com. I love email, and always write back.

Never underestimate the motivational power of a review.


	8. Pressure

**Title:** Galatea (08/10)  
**Author name:** Irina  
**Author email:** irina_author@yahoo.com  
**Category:** Action/Adventure  
**Sub Category:** Drama  
**Keywords:** destiny adventure Pendragon mythology post-Hogwarts  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** _Galatea_ is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in _The Rebirth_, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry...and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess (Sequel to _The Rebirth_.)  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  There's a line from _The Princess Bride in here, and a quote from Benjamin Franklin.  Ten points to whoever spots the first one, and thirty to whoever spots the second._

**Author notes:** Thanks to my betas, Danette, DRI, Nome, Elia, Amy, and The Elder Wyrm.  They're all great at what they do, and they all improve my story in their own special ways.  Thanks as well to my muses at the HP Pendragon yahoo group, for being so freaking cool.  I'd like to give an extra thank you to Elia Sheldon and Tabitha Jones, for being my friends when I didn't know anyone in Boston, and for never failing to inspire me and make me laugh.****

**Chapter Eight**

**Pressure**

_You will come to a place_

_Where the only thing you feel_

_Are loaded guns in your face_

_And you'll have to deal with pressure_

_--Billy Joel_

Blaise walked through the dungeon passageway, his fingers trailing on the rough stone wall beside him.  He was looking for a book; Delia had left it downstairs, she'd said, and she needed it for some obscure Otherworldly research project.  Once a Ravenclaw, always a Ravenclaw, Blaise reflected.  It didn't matter how long she'd lived in Malfoy Manor or worn a Dark Mark; Delia would always be more interested in the acquisition of knowledge than the acquisition of power.  It made her terribly easy to understand, but frightfully difficult to manipulate.

Absently pushing his dark curls out of his eyes, Blaise pulled open the door to the little-used dungeon room.  He took two steps in before looking up, and then he froze.

The Dark Lord stood in the center of a ring of torchlight, his body a tall, thin column of darkness, his power a thick, swirling black against the glow of the flames.  Lucius Malfoy stood a respectful distance away, and on the floor at Voldemort's feet knelt…_Gregory Goyle._

Blaise's gasp was audible.  Goyle was supposed to be _dead._

"Close your mouth," Lucius snapped.  "It is rude to gape, and it is _inexcusable to walk into a high security area without the Dark Lord's express permission."_

Blaise raised his astonished eyes to Lucius's face.  "I…I'm sorry."  He forced himself into subservient mode, lowered his head, and went down on one knee.  "Forgive me, my lord.  I didn't know you were here.  Delia Silvermoon thought she'd left a book in this room, and sent me to get it for her."

The silence was interminable.  At last, Voldemort said, "Very well.  Leave now."

Blaise let out the breath he'd been holding.  He could barely choke out the words, "Thank you."

He backed out of the room and shut the door softly behind him.  Then, he took off at a run.

*          *          *          *          *

The solarium door flew open and crashed against the wall.  Blaise stood in the doorframe.  He seethed with cold, calculated fury.  "Eliot," he said, his voice unnaturally calm, even conversational, "do you know where I just was?"

Eliot didn't move from his cozy armchair.  "You went to the dungeons for Delia, didn't you?"

"Yes."  Blaise moved with the coiled tension of a cobra ready to strike.  "And who do you think I saw there, Eliot, talking with Lucius Malfoy and the Dark Lord himself?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Eliot answered.  His tone was off-hand, although his eyes looked slightly pained.

"Gregory Goyle."

The room went silent.  "I can understand your surprise," Blaise continued.  "After all, didn't you tell Draco and me that Goyle was dead?  That you'd killed him yourself?"

Eliot's eyes darted nervously around the room, but he saw no friendly faces, no one to help him.  "I thought I did.  I mean, he _seemed dead.  I thought –"_

"Liar!" Blaise shouted.  His wand seemed to leap into his hand.  "Traitor!"

The faction scattered, its members pressed up against the walls of the room, not wanting to get hit with a wayward hex during what was sure to be a nasty fight but, at the same time, not wanting to miss a moment of it.

Eliot jumped to his feet, his own wand in hand.  "Going to curse me, Zabini?"

"No," Blaise said.  "I'm going to kill you."

Eliot fired first, playing right into Blaise's hands.  The answering hex ricocheted off the first.  Death Eaters leapt out of the way.  One hex shot through the glass ceiling.  Shards rained down on the Persian rug.  The other left a smoldering hole in a priceless Malfoy tapestry.  The two combatants didn't even flinch.

They shouted incantations just as fast as their mouths could form the words.  Blaise immediately went on the offensive, firing countless benign hexes.  He saved his energy and waited for Eliot to fatigue from throwing up block after block.  Finally, when Blaise sensed his opponent was tiring, he moved in.  Blaise increased the severity of his curses.  Eliot's shielding spells weakened.  Sweat poured down Eliot's red face, and Blaise's damp curls stuck to his forehead.

Blaise cast a blistering barrage of one-word hexes, focusing all of Eliot's energy on defensive spells.  He finished with a string of three _Crucios that came so fast, the third one left the wand before the first even reached Eliot's spell shield.  When the shield collapsed under the relentless assault, Eliot tried to duck the Blaise's disarming spell.  He misjudged.  The spell hit him in the chest, slamming him into the wall and ripping his wand away.  Blaise caught it from the air._

Eliot looked up at his opponent.   "Please –" he whispered.

"_Petrificus Totalus." Blaise was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as he gasped for air._

Eliot crashed face-first to the floor.

Blaise snapped Eliot's wand in two.  Even though Eliot couldn't move, Blaise knew he'd heard the crack of breaking wood, and knew exactly what it meant.  Blaise picked up a long, pointed shard of glass from the floor, and walked over to the motionless body.  He leaned down and whispered in Eliot's ear, "Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line."  As he stood, he plunged the blade into Eliot's back.  A hot jet of blood soaked the carpet.

Blaise wiped his bloody hand on his trousers as he stood and faced the rest of the faction.  "Goyle's told the Dark Lord everything.  He knows about Ginny Weasley, and he knows Draco betrayed him."

"He knows about us," said Neil, not a question.

"If he doesn't, he'll figure it out soon."

"What now?" Delia said.  She couldn't look away from the body on the floor.  The crimson blood spilling from the wound held her in thrall.  Its coppery smell was pulling on something inside of her…her silver power was welling up, threatening to explode.  She gritted her teeth and clamped down on the magic.  She couldn't lose control.  None of them could afford it.

"We have to leave," Blaise declared.  "All of us.  Draco said that if anything went wrong, we should evacuate."

"And what about Draco?" Delia demanded.  "He said he'd only be gone a day; it's been much longer than that.  We can't leave without sending him a message.  What if he comes back here?  He'll be killed.  And where will we go?  The Ministry?"

Blaise shook his head and knifed his fingers through his curls.  "Not since the Auror Division has been disbanded.  If we go to the Ministry, Lucius Malfoy will have us killed."

"Then where?" Neil asked.

Blaise thought wildly.  How did Draco always manage to look so calm, even in a crisis?  He was nearly out of his mind with panic.  Just as he was about to say he had no idea, the answer came to him.  "Hogwarts."

A general cry went up from the crowd.  Blaise held up his hands for silence.  "If we're against the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore will think of us as allies, at least for now.  I don't want to end up in a yew tree or as food for Dementors.  If any of you have a better idea, I'm listening."

The protests silenced as it sunk in just how desperate their situation was.

"Delia," Blaise said quietly, "use your Otherworldly power to find Weasley.  Where you find her, you'll find Draco.  Tell him, for Merlin's sake, not to come back here.  We're all going to seek asylum at Hogwarts.  Join us as soon as you can.  Don't get caught."

"I understand," Delia said.  She ran from the room.

Blaise looked around the rest of the room.  He took a deep breath.  "If we don't hang together, I guarantee we'll hang separately.  Either we all go, or we all stay, but if we go, no one stays behind."  Blaise saw fear in their eyes, but also unwavering resolution; they were determined to survive, and they'd do whatever was necessary, even if it meant throwing themselves on Dumbledore's mercy.  "All right," he said.  "Meet back here in ten minutes, and we'll use Floo to go to Hogsmeade."

"What about the body?" Grace asked.

Blaise gave Eliot a contemptuous look.  "Leave it.  It'll be a parting gift for Lucius and the Dark Lord."

*          *          *          *          *

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, immersed in an ancient runic tome, when his office door flew open and Hermione strode in.  Her eyes were narrowed with anger, her face was set in a frown of determination, and even her hair seemed furious; it flew around her face in a brown halo of static.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said, "what's the matter?"

"Don't you 'Hermione' me," she said in a shrill voice.

"All right," Dumbledore said patiently, wondering what he'd done to upset her.  For the life of him, he couldn't think of anything to get her so worked up.  "Professor Weasley, then.  Why don't you sit down and tell me what seems to be the problem?"

She folded her arms and glared across the desk.  "_I know."_

He didn't have to ask what she knew; her tone was explanation enough.  "How?"

"Ron caught Harry in a lie.  It all followed from that.  Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?  Did you _honestly think I wouldn't realize what's been going on?"_

"Hermione –" Dumbledore began, but she interrupted.

"I thought I could trust you!  I thought you _respected me."_

"I do," he said.  "Of course I trust you, and I respect you as one of the most intelligent witches of your generation.  Keeping Ginny's identity secret had nothing to do with –"

"Ginny was screaming, and her nose was bleeding, and it was silver.  I remember, and so does Ron.  Those memories were _mine!" Hermione cried.  "They were __mine, and you had no right to erase them.  __No right!"  She slammed a fist down on his book to emphasize her point._

"The memory charm," he said, suddenly looking very old, "was necessary to keep you and the Weasleys safe.  Do you have any idea what might have happened to Ginny's parents and brothers if Voldemort had learned her identity?"

"And you think Ron and I would've told him?" she demanded incredulously.

"I don't think you would've told him _intentionally," Dumbledore said.  "However, if either of you had let slip even the smallest bit of information, the Death Eaters would've assumed that you knew more than you did.  You could've been tortured, even killed, for something you didn't know, all because you'd seen something you shouldn't have."_

"Memory charms can be broken," Hermione said.  "It didn't protect us any more than –"

"Please listen, Hermione," Dumbledore interrupted.  "Try to understand.  You and Ron caught a glimpse of something that you weren't supposed to see.  Had you retained that memory, you might have let something slip inadvertently, and if the information fell into the wrong hands, Voldemort wouldn't have hesitated to use it to his advantage.  If we'd had time, I would've loved to have sat down and discussed options, but there was too much going on that night to hesitate for even a moment.  I sent Sirius Black on a secret mission of vital importance, the Dark Lord was about to murder Alastor Moody, and the Pendragon wound up in a coma.  You, Ron, Harry, and Ginny were students whose well-being was entrusted to me, and I had to do the most expedient thing to ensure your safety.  The memory charm was the best solution, given the situation."

For what was very likely the first time in her life, Hermione was at a loss for words.  She sank into a chair, understanding stealing the strength of her anger.  "I had no idea," was all she could say.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed.  "Now you do."  After a beat, he asked, "Why isn't Ron here with you?"

"Because," she replied, "he's angry with Harry for keeping this secret about Ginny, not with you for erasing our memories.  He told me I shouldn't come see you, and I held out as long as I could, but…."

"I understand," he said.  "I would feel the same way, if I were in your position.  But do you now understand why I did it?"

Hermione pressed her lips together and bent her head in acquiescence.  She didn't like being made to agree, and she was still furious, but she _did understand._

Dumbledore was just opening his mouth to speak again when he was cut off by an urgent, staccato knock at the door.  "Enter," he called.

The door swung open.  It was Dana Silvermoon.  Her naturally pale skin was a nearly translucent white.  There were dark circles under her glassy gray eyes.   She looked exhausted, ill, and furious.

"Hello, Dana," Dumbledore said, wondering if he was destined to spend the entire afternoon placating former students.  "How nice to see you.  Would you like to sit down?  Have you had tea yet?"

Dana ignored his questions.  "There are people outside who are asking for you."

Dumbledore stood and smoothed his green velvet robes.  "Outside?  Why haven't they been invited in?"

"The Aurors guarding the doors thought it would be best to have your permission first."

"Are they Giants?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

Dana's eyes flicked to Hermione's face, but her silvery gaze slid away from Hermione's straightforward brown one.  "Death Eaters."

Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his half-moon glasses.  Surely he hadn't heard correctly.  "I beg your pardon?  Death Eaters are waiting outside, asking to speak with me?  Have they attacked anyone?  Made any threats?"

"No."

Dumbledore was at a loss.  "Then what could they possibly want?"

Dana turned away and headed out the door.  "I didn't have the patience to ask."

*          *          *          *          *

The heavy double doors creaked open and a tall man with long, silvery hair stepped out.  Relieved beyond words, Blaise let out the breath he'd been holding.  He'd been _sure the Aurors at the door would turn them away, but not Dumbledore.  Never Dumbledore._

The Headmaster scanned the sizeable crowd milling around the castle lawns.  "Who is in charge?" he demanded.

Blaise stepped forward and met the old man's eyes.  There was nothing kind or understanding there.  They were hard and implacable.  For the first time, Blaise's confidence that they'd be welcome faltered.  "I am, sir."

"Blaise Zabini," Dumbledore said.  "A Death Eater.  I can't say I'm surprised.  You always followed where Draco Malfoy led, didn't you?"

"Someone could do worse in life than follow Draco Malfoy," Blaise said.  Although his words were somewhat antagonistic, his tone was even, neutral.

"Someone could also do much better," Dumbledore said.  His blue eyes were pale chips of ice in his ancient, lined face.  "What are you doing here?"

"You cut right to the heart of it, don't you?" Blaise observed.  "No small talk, no social niceties."

"I consider your very presence a threat to the safety of the students in my care," Dumbledore replied without missing a beat.  "Come to the point before my paternal instinct overcomes my curiosity."

"So subtle," Blaise said sarcastically.  Good god, why the hell was he verbally sparring with this man when they needed his help?  But Blaise couldn't help himself.

Dumbledore lost patience.  "What do you want, Blaise?  Why did the Dark Lord send you, and with such a sizeable contingent?"

Blaise took a deep breath, and sent a quick prayer to every god in the pantheon that this endeavor would be successful, because he didn't have any other ideas.  "We're seeking asylum at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's eyebrow arched in a most inquiring, almost perplexed expression.  "I'm sure you'll understand if I ask for an explanation."

"We're a group that Draco Malfoy formed within the existing Death Eater hierarchy to undermine the Dark Lord, and eventually overthrow him.  Half an hour ago, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named found out.  Malfoy Manor is no longer a safe place for us; our lives are in danger, and if you don't give us asylum, we'll all be killed."

Dumbledore spent a long moment considering the young man before him.  He had long believed that everyone was redeemable, but for the first time in years he found that belief sorely tested.  His eyes swept over the young Death Eaters, many of whom had held great promise as students.  They looked back at him, dozens of eyes trained on him, pleading with him to take them in, to have mercy.  "How do I know you're not spying for Voldemort?  How can I trust that if I give you protection, you won't betray us to him?"

"Look at you!" Blaise said.  "You and the Aurors and the students, all holed up in this castle, waiting.  This is where you'll make your last stand, and it's coming soon.  You know it is; you've felt the gathering power for weeks.  When it does, you'll need as many wands as possible on your side.  We'll help you; we'll do anything you want.  Just let us in.  For Merlin's sake, let us in."

"Is that what this is about?" Dumbledore said.  "Voldemort believes that because we're cornered here, we're going to be an easy defeat?  You tell him that we'll never give up.  We'll never give him the Pendragon.  We'll never –"

"I daresay," Blaise interrupted, "that you'll never give him the Pendragon, seeing as how you don't even have her."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.  "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me.  You don't have the Pendragon."

"And how," Dumbledore asked, "can you be sure?"

Blaise folded his arms across his chest and met the Headmaster's narrowed gaze.  "Because," he said with a smirk, "we do."

Dumbledore had no verbal reply, but his power snapped around him like static electricity.  He was furious.

Blaise continued, "She's with Draco.  We've kept her safe from the Dark Lord, and if you let us stay, Ginny will be here too, very soon."

"And if I don't?" Dumbledore asked.

"If you don't," Blaise said slowly, considering the question, "then she'll be brought to wherever we _do manage to hide, but I can't see Draco letting her out of his sight.  He has a responsibility to keep her alive, after all."_

Dumbledore shut his eyes briefly.  "He's the other one."  He opened them again and fixed Blaise with a glacial stare.  Blaise thought the Headmaster must be able to see inside his head, to read his most secret thoughts.  "You're saying that, if I don't let you stay, then you'll keep the Pendragon prisoner, keep her from protecting the people she was born to protect?"

"No," Blaise corrected.  "I'm saying that if you let us in, Ginny will be along soon.  Consider it a sign of good faith."

Dumbledore looked unconvinced.  "How do I know you're telling the truth?  A secret Death Eater faction aligned against the Dark Lord?"

"It's true," said a voice from behind him, and Dana Silvermoon stepped out into the snow.  "Draco Malfoy really does have a faction, and Blaise is really second in command of it.  He's not lying."

Blaise couldn't hold back a look of surprise.  He never thought he'd see the day when Dana Silvermoon would stand up for a fellow Slytherin, much less one with a Dark Mark.

"How do you know?" Dumbledore asked.

"I have a source," she said, her voice flat.  "An unimpeachable source.  They've been undermining the Dark Lord for years."

"We Slytherins have a saying," Blaise said, seizing the opportunity to press home his case.  "The enemy of my enemy is my friend.  We'll stand with you when the time comes.  The Dark Lord is meddling with things he doesn't understand and can't control; everyone here agrees that he needs to be stopped.  Let us help you."

Dumbledore's eyes searched Blaise's, and at long last, he stepped aside.  "You are welcome here," he said, intoning the ancient words of hospitality out of formality rather than any sincere feeling.

"Thank you," Blaise murmured.  The faction filed inside.  He hung back, and stopped Dana with a hand on her arm.  Her skin was freezing; he could feel it even through her sleeve.

"Let go of me," she snapped.

"Why did you do it?" Blaise asked.

"Not for you," Dana said.

"I didn't flatter myself that you did," he said, unable to hold back a quick smile.  "For Delia, then?"

"Hogwarts is the safest place for her," said Dana, "and the only way to ensure that she's allowed in is to see that the rest of you are too."

Blaise nodded.  "Draco was right about you."

Dana jerked away, and for a moment, looked like she was going to hit him.  She drew breath between her teeth in a long, snake-like hiss.  Although she didn't speak, her glassy eyes demanded that he explain himself, and quickly.

"He wanted to recruit you, you know, a long time ago.  He thought you'd be a great addition to our faction.  But then, after the unfortunate business with Seamus, he knew you'd never agree to wear a Dark Mark.  He knew, though, that we could still use you in other ways.  Come on, Dana," Blaise said, seeing that she still didn't understand, "do you really believe he didn't know that you and Delia were meeting secretly?"

"You're telling me that Delia was coming out to meet me, then _telling him!"_

"No," Blaise said.  "Everyone knows she's terrible at hiding things from you; she never would've been able to keep that a secret.  Draco didn't know _when you two were meeting, just that you __were meeting.  He didn't see any reason to put a stop to it.  He could've very easily driven a wedge between you two, but he didn't.  He knew that having an Auror who was destined for the elite thirteen tied to a member of his faction with a bond as strong as twin love could only help him.  And," Blaise gestured to the entrance hall and the Death Eaters who milled about, "now it has."_

Dana's hand flexed, as though she was about to grab her wand.

Blaise shook his head.  "People smarter than you have been out-maneuvered by Draco Malfoy.  Don't be upset that you and Delia fell for it.  You should go to the hospital wing, Silvermoon.  You look like hell."

He brushed past her and went to join his faction.  He didn't believe she would hurt him, _could hurt him – the ultimate insult._

Blaise didn't know how right he'd been.  She _did feel like hell, just like hell must feel.  Hot, red hate boiled inside of her, firing her silver power.  She wanted to use it, wanted to kill him, to kill all of them for making Delia what she'd become, a Death Eater, a pawn for Draco, a pawn for the goddess Badb.  Dana ground her teeth together, her expression so wild and fearsome that several Aurors backed away, and a few even drew their wands.  She cast her empty eyes over them._

"Maybe you _should go to the hospital wing," Agent Saturn ventured tentatively._

Dana enunciated her reply, let every letter roll off her tongue.  "Fuck.  Off."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked away.  She didn't know where she was going, but she had to be alone.  Someplace where no one would look at her, infuriate her, stoke the fire of her hatred until it exploded in a full-on conflagration.

*          *          *          *          *

Draco sloshed along the shore, up to his calves in the icy lake.  The water soaked his trousers and burned his legs and feet with stabbing pain, but he clenched his teeth and focused on hauling the boat in.  Its bottom scraped on the sandy shore, and he dragged the boat further up the beach so it wouldn't float away.  He probably shouldn't have bothered, but he'd always been proud of his thoroughness.  The next person with business on Avalon wouldn't be happy to find the boat had been lost because its last user hadn't been careful about putting it away.

He heard a _pop, the distinct sound of someone Apparating, and quickly pulled his wand.  No one should've known where they were; no one should have been able to find them.  Draco turned around, and saw Delia Silvermoon standing inches away._

She looked surprised.  "Where's Ginny?"

Draco put his wand away.  "She's over there," he inclined his head, pointing Ginny's direction, "getting our brooms."

"But…"  Delia was confused.  "But I used my Otherworldly power to find her.  I mean, I _thought it was taking me to her, but it took me to you."_

She raised her eyes to his.  They were large and glassy.  Her breath came in quick pants, like she'd recently run a great distance, and her skin was gilded with a fine sheen of sweat, even though the February air was frigid.  She looked decidedly unwell.  Draco told her, "You should see a Mediwizard.  You could use some Pepperup potion, or even a few days of bed rest."

A guarded expression slammed over Delia's face.  "I'm fine."

She obviously wasn't, but Draco didn't say so.  Instead, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Just then, Ginny strode out of the copse of trees, a broom in each hand.  Draco couldn't help but notice the startling difference between her and Delia.  Ginny's cheeks were flushed with good health.  Her ponytailed hair glinted thick and shiny in the fading sunset light.  Her eyes were alert and snapped with awareness, and she stood tall, her shoulders straight.  Delia's hair was lank and stringy, as though it needed a good washing.  Her cheeks were sunken, her skin nearly the same white as the snow under their feet, her shoulders hunched, and her eyes were dazed, focused into the middle distance, as though they were looking at something Draco couldn't see.  Draco's resolution hardened.  "When we get back to the manor, Delia, I'm going to call someone out to take a look at you.  You need medical treatment."

"You can't go back to the manor," Delia said, refocusing her eyes on his face.  "Blaise sent me here to tell you."

"I can't?  Why on earth not?  I live there."

"He knows," Delia said, her voice low.  "The others have gone to ask for asylum at Hogwarts.  He knows, Draco, and if you go back there you'll be killed."

Draco stood, rooted to the spot.  It couldn't be true.  His mind seized; he couldn't force it to form a coherent thought.  Monosyllabic words were the only ones he could muster.  "How?"

"Goyle came back.  Eliot didn't kill him."

"Eliot?"

"Dead."

"Blaise?"

"Yes."

Well, that was something, anyway.  He'd always known Blaise was a good deal more loyal than the average Slytherin.  At least he'd had vicarious revenge.  It would be some small comfort when Voldemort caught him and strung him up, carved runes in his cheeks…

Ginny's voice broke into Draco's panicked thoughts.  She'd turned to Delia and asked, in calm, even tones, "When you said 'He knows,' what, exactly, did you mean?"

The cold light of hate flared in Delia's dead eyes.  Draco wondered why he'd never noticed before, seen the depths of her loathing.  Delia said, "He knows that Draco betrayed him and ran away with the Pendragon."

Ginny adjusted the sword on her back, shifted its weight.  "Does he know who I am?"

Delia's bloodless lips curved into a cruel smile.  "Didn't I mention that part?"

Ginny took a step back, as though she'd been struck.  Her wide, dark eyes flew to Draco's.  "We have to get to my family, right now."

He started to protest.  "But –"

"Now!" Ginny shouted.

Draco's hand snaked out and closed around her wrist, keeping her from disappearing.  "How do you know you're not walking straight into a trap?  If we go to your parents' house and he catches us there –"

"I don't recall inviting you," Ginny said, jerking her arm out of his grasp.  "Go wherever you want, as long as it's not with me.  I've had quite enough of Death Eaters for one lifetime, and every second I waste talking to you he's getting closer to my family."

All blood drained from Draco's face.  "You're _leaving us?  But…but you can't!  If he catches us, we're dead."_

"Go to Hogwarts without me if you're so afraid of him."

Draco moved so quickly, Ginny didn't have time to react.  All at once, he drew his silver knife from his boot and grabbed Delia's hand.  The next second, the blade had cut shallow red lines across Delia's palm and his own.  Their blood mingled on the snow, drops of dark red.  A raw scream tore from Delia's throat.

"There," Draco said over her.  "We've spilled our blood on the ground at your feet.  It's a bond, the most ancient of magics."

"No," Ginny said.  "I'm not going to do this."

"You don't have a choice," Draco snapped.  "The runes are carved on the roots of the tree of life in the center of the Otherworld.  You know it as well as I do.  You're bound to us.  Wherever you go, we go, and you have to keep us safe from Voldemort.  We're placing ourselves under your protection.  It's been sealed in blood.  _You can't leave us."_

Ginny looked from him, pale and determined, to Delia, who had stopped screaming and was now sucking her cut, the blood smeared on her lips.  Ginny shuddered. "Is Delia strong enough to Apparate?  She looks like she's about to die."

"Bitch!" Delia cried, launching herself at Ginny.  Draco caught her before she could strike and squeezed her arms to her sides, pinning her in place.

"Not now," he whispered in Delia's ear.  "Get a hold of yourself.  We'll get you to a doctor just as soon as we can."

"I don't need a doctor!" Delia shouted, flailing against him.  "I need to –"

Her words were cut off in a flash of silver light, and then the world went dark.

*          *          *          *          *

Delia stood in the center of a square.  Her black robe and shoes blended into the smooth, polished stone beneath her feet.  A black and white checkerboard spread as far as she could see.  She saw Dana standing two squares to her left and one back, also dressed head-to-toe in black.  Delia shouted to her twin, but Dana appeared not to hear.  Her shoulders hunched over, as though she was trying to disappear completely into herself, and her eyes stared straight ahead.  Even when Delia waved her arms and jumped up and down, Dana didn't look her way.

A woman, six and a half feet tall, with long, garnet hair and hate burning in her red eyes, slid onto the square beside Delia.  "What's going on?" Delia demanded.  "Who are you?  Where am I?"

The goddess smirked.  "I am Badb.  Welcome to the seventh square."

*          *          *          *          *

They landed in a cave.  Draco stumbled, but kept his footing.  Delia dropped to her knees and sucked in deep gulps of air.  Ginny's balance was perfect.  She didn't even trip.

"Where are we?" Draco demanded.

Ginny looked around.  "I used to play here, when I was little."  In her panic, she'd landed in her favorite childhood spot, a cave tunneled into the side of a hill, rather than in her parents' front yard, as she'd planned.  She adjusted her sword again.  "I told you I had to get here.  There was no way you'd be able to Apparate this far on your own, and she's in no condition to Apparate at all, so..."

"So…what?" Draco asked.

"So," Ginny said, "I did it for you."

She dropped to one knee beside Delia and rested a hand on Delia's shoulder.  "Are you all right?" Ginny asked.  She might not like it, but she was now responsible for their welfare, at least until Voldemort was eliminated.  "Are you strong enough to walk?"

Delia's breath shuddered.  Had it happened so quickly, the living chessboard and the beautiful, terrible goddess?  All in the time it took to Apparate?  Delia forced herself to calm down.  She nodded to Ginny.

Ginny leaned close and murmured in Delia's ear, softly enough that Draco wouldn't hear, "Do you have your power under control?"

Delia's body jerked, a spasm of surprise and recognition.                                             

"I know," Ginny said.  "I know it's hard, and that it hurts, but you have to keep fighting it."

Delia slowly raised her gaze to Ginny's face, and what Ginny saw there made her blood run cold.  Delia's irises, once a dark, steel gray, had become silver, so light they almost disappeared against the whites of her eyes.  There were just her pupils, tight, bottomless holes of black, glaring out.  "You want me to fight what I am?" Delia asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I want you to fight what you're becoming," Ginny whispered back.  "I need to know that you're not going to attack us as soon our backs are turned."  If she did, Ginny wouldn't be able to defend herself.  The blood magic held her to that.  "Are you in control right now, or is Badb?"

Delia shuddered, and pressed the silver power down.  It threatened to well up again, and Ginny's grip tightened on Delia's shoulder as she added her own strength to Delia's, used her own silver power to help, to give the dark magic an extra push.  She knew that Delia wouldn't be able to hold it in next time, that this was their last reprieve from the havoc that Badb's pawns would wreak.

Ginny stood.  "The Burrow is out here, on the other side of the hill.  Let's go."  She took off at a run.  Draco helped Delia up, and then they followed.

Just as they cleared the mouth of the cave, Delia stumbled.  Ginny turned.  "It's right up here.  Come on."

"Wait," Delia said.  She crouched down to have a more careful look at what had made her trip, and then jumped up, hand over her mouth.

"What?" Ginny asked.  "What is it?"

"Legs," Delia gasped.

That was all Draco needed to hear.  He turned away and fought down nausea.  The sight of blood had always made him sick to his stomach.

Ginny ran over, and couldn't hold in a strangled shriek.  A pair of legs, still encased in trousers, lay on the ground, half-buried in the snow.  Someone had, quite literally, been blown apart.  She recognized the metal disk on the belt buckle as a St. Mungo's emergency Portkey.  "It's an Auror."  Realization crystallized.  "Oh, god. We're too late."

She whirled around and ran.  Draco and Delia followed.

The Burrow was a smoking ruin, half caved in.  Black smoke billowed from the windows, and a Dark Mark, ghoulish green, floated above.  The snake wound out of the skull's mouth and twined about the Burrow's chimney, as though it would devour the house and everyone inside.  Ginny pushed through a hole in the wall.  She coughed as the smoke choked her lungs, and used a flash of silver power.  By the time Draco and Delia caught up, the air inside was breathable and Ginny was running through the kitchen, the living room, the den.   She cried out for her family, "Mum!  Dad!  Bill! George!" her voice growing more panicked at each name.  The house had been ransacked.  Furniture was broken and overturned; the floor was littered with shattered dishes and torn parchment, broken glass and ashes.

Draco caught her by the arm.  "I'll look down here.  You check upstairs."

Ginny raced up as fast as her legs would go.  The cave-in had happened in the rear of the house; the stairway was safe, but the twins' old room, and her parents', had been blown to bits.  She looked out the hole where the back wall used to be, and down onto her mother's kitchen garden, now charred beyond recognition.  Ginny choked on her nausea.  This had to be a nightmare.

She raced back down the stairs, and saw Draco and Delia blasting rubble out of the way with their wands.  "What is it?" Ginny asked.

"We found one of your brothers.  He was probably buried in the cave-in," Delia told her.

Ginny's heart seized.  "Which one?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Draco said, grabbing a dirty, pale hand and pulling.  "They all look the same to me."  A limp body followed the hand.

Ginny gasped when she saw the thin face, the long hair tangled with dirt and debris.  "It's Bill."  She dropped to her knees and opened up her sight.  "Thank god," she whispered.  "He's alive."

Ginny put her hands to her brother's temples and let her power flow into him.  Nothing more serious than a blow to the head; she sent a prayer of gratitude to Mórrígan as she nudged her oldest brother back into consciousness.

"Gin?" he gasped as his eyes cracked open.

"Shh," Ginny whispered.  "Don't try to talk just yet.  Relax for a moment."

"No!" Bill said, pushing himself up.  "Mum and Dad, and the others!"  He unfolded his body and stood, then tensed when his eyes fell on Draco.  "Gin, get out of the house."

"Bill –"

"Now!" Bill shouted, shoving her behind him and drawing his wand.  "He's a Death Eater!  His father was here!"

"Wait!" Ginny said, grabbing Bill's wand arm so he couldn't fire any hexes.  "He's with me."

Her oldest brother looked down at her, eyes wide with shock.  "He's…_what?"_

"Draco's with me.  He's all right.  Please, where are the others?"

Bill looked around, taking in the ransacked room, the smoky, darkened house.  "Gone."

"_All of them?"  Once again, Ginny thought she might be sick._

"I don't know," Bill said.  "The wall fell on me.  I don't remember anything else."  He cast another suspicious glance at Draco.  "You're sure he's all right?"

Ginny gave Draco an apprehensive look.  He was standing nonchalantly, trying to look relaxed and keep an eye on Delia at the same time, but it didn't escape her that Draco's hand casually hovered near his wand pocket, just in case Bill decided to try something.  "Yes," Ginny said.  "Anyway we don't have a choice."

"Look what I found," Delia called from the den.  She carried in a sheet of parchment.  "It was stuck to the wall with this."  She held a knife twined with silver snakes, identical to the one Draco carried.

"I need to see the parchment," Ginny said.  "Right now, Delia."

It was a tone Bill never heard his sister use; one he had never heard _anyone use, in fact, except for Dumbledore.  A tone that demanded complete, immediate obedience.  Without argument, Delia handed the page over.  Ginny took the knife too; it didn't seem wise to let Delia near any sharp objects.  She unfolded the note so quickly, she almost tore it in two.  As her eyes scanned the letter, she let out a low cry._

"What is it?" Draco asked, looking over her shoulder.

She'd never thought she'd have to see that handwriting again, her name rendered in such plain, spare strokes, as it had been a thousand times before, when she'd poured her soul out, and let the dark powers pour in.  It had risen from the diary, an illicit, velvet whisper – _Ginny – and now, here it was again, calling to her from the page, __his writing.  "It's Tom," Ginny said.  "He was here."_

Bill stared at her.  "What does the letter say?"

"It says," Ginny had to stop and clear her throat, force herself to speak calmly.  "It says that he has my family, and I have three hours to turn myself in."

"If you don't?" Draco asked.

Ginny looked up and held his gaze.  "Then he's going to kill them, and then one family of halfblood or Muggleborn wizards every ten minutes I don't show up."

Draco's mouth fell open.  "He's mad.  Doesn't he realize that he'll never hold political power by –"

"He's not you, Malfoy," Ginny interrupted.  "He doesn't want worldly power, he wants Otherworldly power, and he can only get it through me."  She stared straight ahead, unseeing, her mind turned inward.  Dear goddess, she didn't have a choice.  There was only one thing she could do.  Ginny stiffened her resolve; she _couldn't falter on this.  But, oh, it would be hard.  Her one small comfort about the impending conflict was that she would personally see that Tom didn't make it out alive. _

"Gin," Bill began, "I don't understand."

"There's no time to explain," Ginny said quickly.  "We have to go."

"Where?" Draco asked.

"Hogwarts.  Where's mum's red jar, Bill?"

Bill slowly pointed to the corner of the room.  A small earthen jar lay shattered, its red, powdery contents spilled on the floor.  Ginny crouched down and scooped up as much as she could.

Draco bent down beside her.  "What about your family?" he murmured.

Her eyes were anguished; already, grief had taken hold.  "Don't make this any harder than it already is."

"But if you don't go, they're as good as dead."

"They're as good as dead anyway.  I have a _responsibility," Ginny said through clenched teeth.  "Tom has given me a choice: I trust him, save my family, and hundreds of people die, or I realize that he's a liar, save hundreds of people, and my family dies.  I have –" her voice broke "– a responsibility."_

"Stop calling him Tom," Draco said.  He rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.  "It gives him a humanity that he doesn't have."

"It's his name," Ginny said coldly, shrugging him off.  "When you call things by their proper names, everything becomes much clearer."

"Gin," Bill said from across the room.  "I know it's probably classified Auror information, but what's going on?  Why is You-Know-Who after you?  Three hours isn't a lot of time to figure out a rescue.  We need to hurry."

"We're going to Hogwarts, Bill," Ginny said.  "I have to talk to Dumbledore.  I'll explain everything later."  She didn't have the heart to tell him that they _weren't going to save their family; there was just no way to do it.  For all Ginny knew, they might already be dead._

Ginny caught Draco's eye, and he understood her request.  He aimed his wand, and flames rose in the fireplace.  Ginny tossed her handful of red powder inside and said, "Mike Fletcher."

A moment later, Mike's head appeared in the fire.  "Gin!" he said, his face creasing into a relieved smile, as though he could hardly believe his eyes.  "You're all right!  You have no idea how happy I am to see you.  Potter and I are –"

"Not now," Ginny interrupted.  "You and Harry have to leave."

"Leave?" Mike said.  "I don't understand."

Ginny spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable, pressing her meaning home.  "Get out of the flat, right now.  Don't even stop to pack.  Go to Hogwarts.  We'll meet you at the castle's front door."

Mike shook his head.  "There's no way they could've found out Potter is here, Gin, I promise.  We've been careful.  We're both perfectly safe."

"They don't know Harry is there," Ginny said.  "Mike, they'll be after _you, because you're my best friend.  My family has been taken, and there's a Dark Mark over the Burrow.  Get out __now."_

Mike's head disappeared.  Ginny stood and turned.  Draco, Bill, and Delia all looked to her.  "Hogwarts?" Draco said.

Ginny shook her head.  "We have to go to my flat first."

"You don't have a fireplace," Bill said.  "How are we going to floo to Hogwarts from there?"

"We'll Apparate," Ginny said.  Her voice had taken on a stony, emotionless sound.  With all her might, she was forcing back the roaring desire to save her family.  This is what it meant to be the Pendragon.  She had to consider everyone else; if she joined with Voldemort, Mórrígan would be defeated and the world would crash into destruction.  She couldn't go to him – not in three hours, not ever – and she couldn't save her family if she didn't know where he was keeping them, or whether they were even still alive.  There were simply too many other lives hanging in the balance to risk on such a gamble.  Ginny would give her own life to save her family without a second thought.  Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy.  This was about the whole of the wizarding world, the past, the present, and the future.  This was why the Great Dragon had returned.  Ginny had made her choice on the island, claimed this destiny as her own.  Now, it was time to see it through.

Bill was talking.  "The wards are airtight.  We can't Apparate to Hogwarts."

Ginny arched an eyebrow.  "Watch me."

"Why are we going to your flat?" Delia asked.

Ginny said, "I need my wand."

*          *          *          *          *

Harry and Mike were out of breath.  They'd used the floo network to carry them to the Three Broomsticks, and had run the entire way to the castle as though every demon in hell were behind them.  Just as they reached the heavy double doors of Hogwarts, a loud _pop echoed behind them.  In tandem, they whirled around, wands drawn, and then they both gasped._

A rather motley crew had Apparated directly onto Hogwarts grounds, something previously considered impossible.  Bill Weasley was streaked with dirt; chips of plaster and brick tangled in his long hair.  He looked around, dazed, as though he needed badly to sit down.  Delia Silvermoon was trembling, delicate tremors shivering through her body.  Her sunken, silver eyes fixed hungrily on Draco Malfoy, who looked back at her with wary concern.  Behind them all stood Ginny.  She clutched a parchment in a white-knuckled fist, and her wand was strapped to her thigh in an Auror Division issue combat holster.

She raised her dark eyes to Harry's.  A cry ripped from her throat as she pushed past Draco and threw herself into Harry's arms.  He pulled her close; had it really been less than two weeks?  It felt like a year since that magical night at his flat.  Ginny framed his face with her hands, fingers spread against his cheeks.  "You're all right," she said as though she could hardly believe it was true.  "I'm so glad you're all right."

"Are _you all right?" Harry asked.  "You told Mike there was a Dark Mark at the –"_

He cut off as Ginny pulled away and turned to Mike, throwing her arms around his neck.  "Thank the goddess you're safe," she said, her words muffled by his shirt.

He hugged her back.  "I'm fine, Gin.  We're both fine.  Is your family okay?"

Ginny pulled away.  "Only Bill.  The others…Tom got the others."

Harry felt a cold shiver at hearing Voldemort's real name.  "How are we going to get them back?"

She slanted him a glance.  _I don't think we're going to._

"_What?" he cried out loud._

Draco's head snapped up at Harry's outburst, hostility and resentment written on his face.  It was gone just as soon as it appeared.  He said, "Come on.  We can't waste time talking out here, Potter."

"You!" Harry cried, launching himself at Draco.

Ginny threw herself between them and closed her hands around Harry's wrists.  "We don't have time!" she exclaimed.  "We're working against the clock.  If you want to hit him later, I'll hold him for you, but _we don't have time."_

"But –"

"No!" Ginny said.  She laid her palm flat against Harry's chest and glared up at him.  _You lied to me.  You knew about him the whole time!  You put the goddess's will ahead of your own.  You might have ruined everything, for what?  Loyalty to Dumbledore; your own stupid pride; a schoolboy grudge!  Harry staggered back as she flooded their link with her anger and disappointment._

_Ginny's he's a –_

"I'm _aware, Harry!" Ginny snapped out loud.  "I said __not now.  I know __everything he is, and to be perfectly honest, it's none of your goddamned business.  We, the __three of us, have too much to do."_

Bill and Mike had pushed the castle doors open.  With one last glare at Harry, Ginny slipped inside.  One by one, the rest of the group followed her.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked.  The castle looked deserted.

"Since it's early evening," Draco said, "I imagine they're eating dinner, just the as you did at this time every day for the seven years you lived here."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Mike and Harry snapped together.  A strange look passed between them.

Draco didn't bother to answer.  He was fiddling with his sleeves.  He'd slid the silver cufflinks out of their moorings, and now he was rolling up the cuffs with quick, efficient flicks of his long fingers.  Harry was appalled.  Only Draco Malfoy would have the audacity to walk into the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle and stand in front of Albus Dumbledore, dark mark on full display.  What could anyone do to him, after all?  He was here under the protection of the Great Dragon.

Ginny also saw what he was doing, and made a face.  "Now who's the childish one?"

Draco smirked.  "If I am, it's all because of you."

"Roll your sleeves back down," Ginny ordered.

"Why should I have to hide who I am?"

"You're going to rub it in his face."

Draco's smirk deepened into a smile.  "That's right, I am.  And you're going to do the same."  So quickly Harry that hardly saw him move, Draco's arm snaked out and released the clasp of Ginny's black robe.  It hung open over her close-fitting black trousers and shirt; her tattoo was just visible above her belt.  When Ginny blinked in surprise, Draco said, "Every person in that room should know that you're Agent Jezebel.  You've earned the right to be recognized for what you've done."

Bill blinked.  "You're _what?  Agent Jezebel?  __Ginny?"_

Ginny held her brother's gaze for a long moment before nodding in confirmation.  She walked over and stood in front of him, looked up to meet his blue eyes, their father's eyes.  Ginny swallowed the lump in her throat at the thought of her father.  Dear goddess, please let her see him again.  She loved him so much, and her mother, and her four missing brothers.  Ginny leaned in close and murmured, "I need you to do me a favor."

"What?" he asked, still wide-eyed, still unable to assimilate the notion that his baby sister was the most dangerous Auror at the Ministry.__

Ginny shrugged the sling off of her shoulders and held the sword to her brother.  "I need you to hold this for me, just for a few minutes."

"Why?"

"It's ancient magic," Ginny explained.  "No weapons in the Great Hall.  Just please hold it?"

Bill looked at the sword in her hands, the clear blade that flashed silver in the candlelight, the dragons that wound around the base.  He inhaled sharply.  "Ginny," he said, his voice low, so the others wouldn't hear, "they might not know what this sword is, but I do, and I want to know right now where you got it."

Ginny should have known better than to think that Bill wouldn't recognize it.  He was a curse breaker, an artifact finder, a treasure hunter.  Of course he would know the most famous sword in history on sight.  "It's mine," she murmured back, equally softly.

"It can't be!" Bill said.  "This sword belongs to the Pendragon; she's the only one who can use it.  You need to tell me where you found it; you need to put it back!  You can't muck around with the Otherworld!"

"It's mine," Ginny repeated.

Bill looked into her eyes.  He shivered at what he saw in their dark depths – great power and even greater vulnerability, extreme youth and divine timelessness.  He bowed his head, but hadn't even bent his knee an inch before Ginny caught his elbow.  "Don't you dare," she hissed.  "Not _ever.  You're my __brother, Bill.  You…you took me on picnics!  You taught me to read!  __Never feel like you have to kneel.  I had to put up with it from the Avalon priestesses; I won't have it from you."_

Bill froze.  He didn't know what to do.

"I'm the same person I was ten minutes ago," Ginny said, "and I need you to hold my sword.  Whatever you do, don't let Delia touch it, and keep her away from Mike."  Bill nodded, and the weapon was thrust unceremoniously into his waiting hands.

Ginny turned around and looked at Harry and Draco, who were busy glaring at each other.  She said, "I'm ready."  As she walked over to join them, the doors to the Great Hall crashed open.

Silence washed over the room like a wave.  Everyone – teachers, students, Aurors, and Death Eaters – stared as Ginny strode in, Harry and Draco on either side of her.  Their black cloaks billowed behind them as they walked, and their shoes against the flagstones were the only sounds.  The younger students, ones who hadn't gone to school with the three, gaped openly.  The one with the scar on his forehead couldn't be anyone but the Boy Who Lived, and the woman had a silver sword on her hip: it was Agent Jezebel!  The other man, tall and pale, had an angry red brand on his left forearm, showing just below his shirt cuff.  A Death Eater, right there in the Great Hall!

At the Slytherin table, Blaise stood the moment he saw his leader.  Without pausing in his walk, Draco motioned for Blaise to be still.  When they reached the front of the room, Ron, too, jumped to his feet, wand in hand.  He raised it to Draco, but before he could fire, Harry caught Ron's eye and gave the barest shake of his head.  Hermione caught his sleeve and slowly pulled him back in his chair, her eyes fixed suspiciously on Draco.  Ron's livid stare would've melted steel.

Ginny was oblivious to all of this.  She approached the high table and stood across from Dumbledore, meeting his inquiring expression with a glare that would freeze running water.  Dumbledore's eyes narrowed when he saw Draco's dark mark, but his voice was cordial when he said to Ginny, "I'm glad to see you've made it back to us unscathed."

Ginny slammed the parchment down on the table in front of him.  The sound reverberated through the hall.  "Look at that," she said with quiet, determined anger.

Dumbledore scanned the parchment.  When he got to the threat against the community's half-bloods, his eyes widened and he looked back up to Ginny.

"Tom left this for me at my parents' house," she said.  "It's half caved in.  There's a dark mark overhead, and they're all gone.  Everyone is gone, except Ron and Bill."

"We'll work out a plan to get them back," Dumbledore said, pushing back his chair and standing.  "We have three hours."

"No," Ginny said.  "Sit back down."

Draco looked hugely amused by this.  Harry seemed more horrified.  Dumbledore, after a pause, sat.

Ginny was still talking in that harsh whisper, to keep her words from carrying to the rest of the hall.  "For all I know, they're already dead."

Dumbledore's forehead creased in a slight frown.  "Can't you use your powers to tell you if they're still alive?"

"I'm not a goddess!" Ginny snapped, louder than she'd meant to.  The words echoed and bounced off the hall's stone walls.  The students all leaned forward, interest doubled in what Agent Jezebel was saying to their headmaster.  Ginny said, once again quiet, "My powers don't work that way."

Dumbledore appeared slightly hurt.  "There's no harm in asking.  I didn't know."

"That's because you never bothered to _find out," Ginny said.  "If I go to Tom, Mórrígan's war is effectively over, and everyone with Muggle blood will still be targets.  I couldn't save my family, but I __have to save the others."_

"There are too many people," Dumbledore said, leaning forward across the table.  "How are you going to rescue them all?"

Ginny took a deep breath.  "We have to bring them here."

"How?"

She released an exasperated breath.  "I'm not stupid, nor am I blind.  You and the Order members compiled a list of halfboods and Muggle borns years ago, just for this sort of occasion.  Now, we have to use it."

The headmaster's eyes widened at the thought of such a monumental undertaking done in such a small window of time.  "I think we need to examine other options, Ginny."

"I'm sorry, Albus," Ginny purred with exquisitely barbed politeness, a tone straight from the mouth of Draco Malfoy, "I didn't realize you had any say in this."

Dumbledore looked taken aback at her use of his given name.  She had not done it out of friendship, but because he had called her Ginny, and she had wanted to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that such familiarity between them was both undesirable and unacceptable.

Professor McGonagall couldn't remain silent a moment more.  Aghast at Ginny's rudeness, she reprimanded, "Miss Weasley!"

Ginny didn't even look at her.

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall.  "Minerva, give Miss Weasley whatever she asks for.  The full resources of Hogwarts are hers to command."

Ginny nodded, satisfied with that answer.  It was exactly what she wanted to hear.  Without waiting another moment, she rested her hand on the head table and swung herself onto it.  The students buzzed with surprise.  Agent Jezebel was _standing on the table?  Had she gone mad?_

Ginny took a deep breath.  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  She couldn't look past the hundreds of eyes fixed on her, cataloguing her every move.  Her body seized with the panic she always felt when she was the center of attention, and she firmly reminded herself that now was not the time.  _Grow up, Ginny.  __Mórrígan wouldn't be afraid.  She straightened her back, cleared her throat, and tried again.  "I need your attention."_

She had it.

"You probably recognize by my tattoo that I'm Agent Jezebel.  My real name is Ginny Weasley.  I'm Professor Weasley's sister-in-law.  Half an hour ago, I went to my parents' house to find them gone, the building destroyed, and a dark mark overhead."

Ron jumped to his feet with a cry.  Harry turned his back to the room and leaned across the table.  "She has it under control.  Sit down.  Trust her."

A ripple of fear spread through the room.  None of these students were old enough to remember the first reign of terror, but Dumbledore had insisted they study it in History of Magic.  He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back in power, and had attacked the family of the most powerful Auror in the Ministry.

"He left me a note," Ginny continued, "saying that, in three hours, he was going to start killing halfblood families.  Even the families of Muggleborns aren't safe."

The room erupted.  Students cried out, shouted, screamed, jumped to their feet.  It became pandemonium, a seething cauldron of panic.

"_Silence!" Ginny shouted._

The room froze.  Draco and Harry couldn't help but admire her innate ability to control a crowd.

"Didn't you just hear me say that I'm Agent Jezebel?" Ginny asked with a slight smile.  "I always have a plan."  She was trading in on her reputation as an Auror, using it to make them put their faith in her.  It seemed to be working.  In a crisis, people functioned best if there was someone in charge to tell them that a plan was already in motion, that it was no-fail, sure to work.  These students were no different.

"We're going to evacuate them," she went on.  "Who's willing to help?"

The Aurors and Gryffindors didn't need any extra prompting.  They all jumped to their feet, beating the Hufflepuffs by the narrowest of margins.  The Ravenclaws followed next, and when, after an eloquent glance between Draco and Blaise, the Death Eater faction rose, about half of the Slytherin table followed.  Ginny didn't comment on the students who remained in their seats, but she sent them an arch look that told them she knew exactly why they hadn't stood.  Several shifted uncomfortably.

"Here's what we're going to do," Ginny said.  "The elves need to light every fireplace in this castle.  We'll have to travel by floo, since you can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, and students can't Apparate at all.  Sixth and seventh years, you'll need to help the teachers, Aurors, and…" she paused to think of a diplomatic term for Draco's faction, "the Headmaster's guests.  I want everyone to travel in groups of no less than three.  Go through the fireplace, collect the people you're supposed to collect, and then come back to the school as fast as you can.  Don't stay in any one place for too long, and if you run into Death Eaters, for goddess's sake, don't try anything heroic.  These people are playing for keeps.  Let the adults handle it."

Many students were not looking as enthusiastic as they had been before her speech, but stubborn resolve showed on their faces.

"Third, fourth, and fifth years," Ginny continued, "will be in charge of expanding charms, so that we have room enough to put all these people.  Every nook, cranny, and cupboard has to be expanded so their insides are bigger than their outsides.  First and second years, you'll be in charge of helping people into the Great Hall.  Keep them out from underfoot, especially the Muggles."  People without magical powers would have no way to defend themselves, should a Death Eater wind up in the castle somehow.  "I want every student to listen carefully to Professor McGonagall.  She will keep you coordinated and organized."  There was no one better suited for the job.

"Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said quietly, standing once again, "many of these houses are owned by Muggles.  They're not hooked to the floo network."

Ginny tilted her head to one side, her brow lightly furrowed, as though she were thinking hard.  "Done."

"Done?" Dumbledore echoed.  "What's done?"

"They're hooked to the floo network.  It's taken care of."

"What about the ones that don't have fireplaces?" Dumbledore pressed.

Ginny frowned.   "Who doesn't have a fireplace?  How else can they talk to each other?"

"Muggles use telephones," Dumbledore reminded her.

Shit.  He was right.  Ginny turned back to the crowd.  "Okay.  Some families don't have fireplaces.  We'll use the Three Broomsticks as a Disapparation point, to go to their houses and evacuate them."  She glanced at the Headmaster.  "I assume the Order has been making Portkeys?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.  "We have several dozen enchanted with Hogwarts as the destination."

"We'll need them," she ordered, and once again addressed the crowd.  "So, people who can Apparate will go to homes that don't have fireplaces and give the families who live there Portkeys.  These Portkeys are set to return to the castle, so they're perfect for Muggles.  Does anyone have any questions?"  No one said anything.  "Anyone who wants to back out is free to do so, and no one will think less of you."  Still the students stood silently.  Ginny was pleased.  She added, "I know that many of you noticed Mr. Malfoy's Dark Mark," she rested her hand briefly on the top of Draco's head, "but you have my word that you don't need to be afraid of him.  Today, he's one of us."

Many students still looked unsure, but the word of Agent Jezebel went a long way to making them feel more secure.

Just then, a huge black dog barreled into the hall.  Harry's eyes widened.  It was his godfather.

Sirius skidded to a halt at the odd scene – everyone in the room on their feet, and Ginny Weasley standing on the high table – but he took a moment to growl at Draco Malfoy.  Draco flicked his cool eyes over the dog and drawled, "Well, if it isn't Sirius Black."

Pandemonium again.  An escaped mass murderer!

Ginny yelled as loud as she possibly could.  "_Quiet!"_

Once again, the room froze.

"Malfoy," she said softly, so no one but Harry would overhear, "that was low.  We'll see how you like it when I publicly announce something _I learned from __your head."  She said to the students, "You also have my word that Sirius Black is no more a Death Eater than Harry Potter is."  Ginny looked to the dog.  "It's all right, Sirius.  You can transform.  What's happened?"_

Sirius looked past her to Dumbledore, who nodded.  Ginny couldn't help but feel annoyed, but clenched her teeth and didn't say anything.  A flash of light, and there was a man standing where the dog had been.  "Voldemort is on the move," he gasped out.  "He was spotted in Surrey, headed towards Little Winging."

Ginny and Harry twigged at the same time.  "The Dursleys!"

Harry went on, "But I'm a Pureblood.  My parents were a witch and wizard.  The Dursleys shouldn't be on his list."

"I doubt Tom asked for a copy of your family tree," Ginny pointed out.  "They're Muggles and the only blood family you have, which makes them a target."

"We still have two hours!" Draco exclaimed.  "He's started early.  He said in his note –"

"He must have found out that we were here," Ginny interrupted.  "If he learned that I'd gone to Hogwarts, he would know that I have no intention of turning myself in."

Harry looked at Draco with undisguised suspicion.  "How could Voldemort have known we were here?  Who told him?"

"No one mortal," Ginny said.  "We have to hurry if we're going to get to the Dursleys before he does."

"What about our parents?" Ron demanded.

Ginny's gaze flicked to him.  "This isn't about them."

"You're acting like you don't even care!" he shouted.

"Shut up, Ron!" Ginny snapped back.  "I care just as much as you do, but there's nothing I can do for them.  We can't save them, but we _can save the rest."_

"You're not even going to try?" Harry demanded.

Ginny looked from him to Ron and Hermione.  Guilt welled up in her throat.  "All right," she said quietly, relieved beyond words that Harry had given her an excuse to send people for her parents.  "All right, I'll try."

She crouched down on the table, putting herself at eye level with Draco.  "If Tom has my family, where would he take them?"

"How the merry fuck would I know that?" Draco demanded, looking at her as though she were mad.

"You were his second in command, Malfoy.  Give me an educated guess."

Draco thought.  "The dungeons underneath the manor.  That's the only place I can think of."

Ginny nodded, processing.  "Do you know your way around the dungeons?"

"They're in my house, aren't they?" was his reply.

Once again, she stood and faced the crowd.  "I'm putting together a separate team to head a rescue attempt for my family.  Draco will go, because he knows his way around the Death Eaters' dungeons.  Ron, you can go too, with Professor Figg, and…"  Ginny scanned the room.  She should send a field agent, someone highly trained in hand-to-hand combat.  Since Ginny had quit, Harry was the best in the division, but if Draco was going, Harry would never consent – not because of their mutual dislike, but because it would leave Ginny unprotected.  If she couldn't send him, Dana was the second best choice.  She didn't know how safe it would be, sending Dana, Ron, and Draco off together, but hopefully Professor Figg would keep them in line.  "Agent Nimue, you'll join them."  With one last look around the room, she jumped down from the table.

_Her feet landed on grass.  She couldn't hold in a cry of surprise, a few frantic heartbeats of fear, before she realized that she was in the Otherworld.  There were no other people in sight.  The sun filtered through the green canopy of leaves, falling to the ground in emerald streaks of shadow and light.  Ginny heard the murmur of a brook nearby, and braced herself for what she knew awaited her there._

_She cleared the trees to her left, and her eyes fixed immediately on the Mórrígan, the death crone, who knelt on the opposite riverbank, industriously washing a robe, a large pile of them already spread on the grass beside her.  "I'm here," Ginny said._

_Mórrígan looked up.  Her red eyes burned with the fire of death, and Ginny could smell her stench of decay even from across the water.  Mórrígan held up the garment she was washing.  It was a black robe, made to fit someone unnaturally long and thin.  Its front was slick with dark, red blood.  Ginny's features hardened in determination, and she nodded._

_Mórrígan had grabbed another garment, and dunked it beneath the river.  She held it up for Ginny's inspection, and smiled.  Water sluiced down the sodden fabric, mingling with the blood that soaked the front._

_Ginny gasped as her chest seized with pure, primal fear.  She wanted to run, but her feet were frozen to the spot._

_The blood on the robe was silver._

            *          *          *          *          *

Stay tuned for chapter nine, "The Deathday Party."  I promise it's not to be missed.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed chapter seven.  I'm truly fortunate to have such a wonderful group of readers.  Your feedback surpassed my wildest dreams, and gave me a well-needed boost when I'd just moved to a new city and was fighting homesickness.  Each and every one of you is appreciated.

Email me anytime at irina_author@yahoo.com.  I adore hearing from you, and I always write back.  Also, if you haven't yet, check out the HP Pendragon yahoo group!  Cookies and fanart and muses – oh my!  Plus, they get to read the chapter before it goes live on any of the websites.  We'd love to see you there.


	9. The Deathday Party

**Title and Chapter:** Galatea Chapter Nine: "The Deathday Party" (9/10) 

**Author Name:** Irina 

**Author Email:** irina_author@yahoo.com

**Category:** Action/Adventure

**Keywords:** destiny, adventure, Pendragon, mythology, post-Hogwarts

**Rating:** R

**Spoilers:** All four books

**Summary:** _Galatea_ is the second act in the Mórrígna trilogy. Five years after the events in _The Rebirth_, Draco Malfoy is finally ready to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place as the head of the Death Eaters. Ginny Weasley, an Auror disillusioned with the light side, is the last thing he needs to turn his dreams into reality. But Draco has underestimated Harry…and Voldemort. Get ready for adventure, angst, romance, humor, and a bad-ass Celtic goddess – it's going to be a wild ride. [Sequel to _The Rebirth_.]

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. There are quotes in here from Nietzsche and the Prose Edda.

**Author's Note:** Many thanks go to Nome, Elia Sheldon, Danette, and The Elder Wyrm for betaing, to John Walton for britpicking, and to all of my lovely muses at the HP Pendragon yahoo group. If you'd like to join them, point your browser to groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPendragon. I'd love to see you there. Remember, folks, feedback makes me a better writer, which translates to a better story for you to read.

**

Chapter Nine

**

The Deathday Party

*****

In the days of ancient Greece, there lived a sculptor named Pygmalion. Unimpressed with the local specimens of feminine beauty, he created a statue, formed in the image of his deepest desires. On the feast of the goddess Aphrodite, he asked her to send him a bride, but in his heart he longed for the marble of his creation. That day, the goddess brought the cold stone to life, a woman molded into a man's ideal, born to fulfill another's desires. Her name was Galatea.

*****

Fearlessness is better than a faint heart for any man who puts his nose out of doors. The length of my life and the day of my death were fated long ago.

--The Prose Edda

*****

With one last look around the room, she jumped down from the table.

_Her feet landed on grass. She couldn't stop a cry of surprise and a few frantic heartbeats of fear before she realized that she was in the Otherworld. There were no people in sight. The sun filtered through the green canopy of leaves, falling to the ground in emerald streaks of shadow and light. Ginny heard the murmur of a brook nearby, and braced herself for what she knew awaited her there._

She walked past the trees and her eyes fixed immediately on the Mórrígan, the death crone, who knelt on the opposite riverbank, industriously washing a robe, a large pile of them already spread on the grass beside her. "I'm here," Ginny said.

Mórrígan looked up. Her red eyes burned with the fire of death, and Ginny could smell her stench of decay even from across the water. Mórrígan held up the garment she was washing. It was a black robe, made to fit someone unnaturally long and thin. Its front was slick with dark, red blood. Ginny's features hardened in determination, and she nodded.

Mórrígan had grabbed another garment, and dunked it beneath the river. She held it up for Ginny's inspection, and smiled. Water sluiced down the sodden fabric, mingling with the blood that soaked the front.

She gasped. She wanted to run, but her body was frozen.

Ginny's feet landed on the stone floor of the Great Hall. Her knees buckled, and she pitched forward. Harry caught her before she could fall. She looked up at him and felt her heart constrict inside her chest with pure, primal fear.

The blood on the robe had been silver.

She was going to die.

"What is it?" Harry said. "What's the matter?"

She straightened, stepped out of his hold, and tilted her chin at an arrogant, fearless angle. It was hard to keep her voice from shaking. "Are you afraid?"

Harry gave a confused half-smile. "Of what? Death Eaters? A little, I suppose. Everyone is."

Ginny nodded. "Do you know why the Norsemen were so fearless in battle?" She didn't wait for his answer. "They were fearless because… cowardice wouldn't change it. I've always thought it was interesting. Because if they were fated to live through a battle, no amount of putting themselves in harm's way could hurt them, and if they were fated to die, being afraid wouldn't make any difference. You might as well go out with honor."

Harry frowned, and began ushering her through the crowded hall, full of people organizing themselves into rescue parties. "This is a fascinating non sequitur, Ginny, but we have to hurry. The Dursleys don't have much time."

"I know," she said, allowing him to pull her along. "I just…I just thought it was interesting; that's all. The Norse weren't afraid to die. You're like that too, Harry."

He looked over his shoulder at her, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Sorry?"

"You're not ever afraid to die. It probably comes from facing death so many times when you were young, but you're fearless, aren't you? I've always admired that about you." She stopped his walk and tipped her chin up, looked deeply into his eyes. "I've _always_ admired you."

"Gin, the Dursleys –"

"This is more important," she said firmly. "The Dursleys will be fine for a few more minutes, and I have to tell you…you're the best, bravest, kindest, most patient person I've ever met. I can't tell you how many times I've wished I could be like you. I missed you so much when I was gone, and I…I love you, Harry. There aren't words to say how much."

His eyes narrowed. "Virginia Weasley, what's the matter with you?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, yes, you do. When you got here, you were furious with me. Now you're telling me all this…what's going on? What's changed in the last fifteen minutes?"

She took a step back. The softness in her eyes was gone, replaced by flinty determination. "Nothing's changed. We have to go. Please remember what I just said."

Harry nodded, unable to shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. He started after her, but someone in the crowd grabbed his arm. He turned and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy. The Death Eater's sleeves were still rolled up, displaying his Dark Mark to everyone in the hall. Unbearable hatred boiled up within Harry as he snarled, "What do _you_ want?"

"You keep her safe," Draco ordered. "Do you hear me? She had better be in one piece when she gets back, or I'll hold you accountable."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're giving me orders, Malfoy?" he said coolly. "_You_? That's almost _amusing_, considering your link with the Pendragon is the only thing keeping you from being thrown in Azkaban with the rest of the filth who wear that mark."

Harry glanced over at the Weasley rescue team. Dana stood a short distance away from Ron and Professor Figg. She was oblivious to them both; she stared hungrily at Harry and Draco. She was practically salivating. "Listen," Harry said. "Watch Dana carefully. She tried to kill me at Mike's flat. Don't turn your back to her."

Draco's scowl melted into an expression of…was that _anxiety_? Harry hardly would've believed it. Draco said, "Delia hasn't been herself either." Then after a pause, he asked under his breath, "Why are you warning me? You'd be happy to see me dead; don't pretend otherwise."

"Do you have a brain in your head?" Harry demanded. "Balance, Malfoy. Without you, I don't exist either."

Draco looked interested. "Do you really think it works that way? If I die, you die?"

"Do you want to risk it? I don't," Harry shot back.

Forehead creased in concentration, Draco mulled that over.

"Look," Harry said, pulling out of his grasp, "I can't stand here and debate metaphysics. My aunt and uncle don't have much time. Just be careful, all right? And bring the Weasleys back safely." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and jogged into the entrance hall to find Ginny.

*****

There was a loud crack and Ginny stumbled out of the hearth. Harry followed a moment later.

"What was that noise?" a voice asked from the dining room.

"Just the fire," said another voice, a man. "A log breaking or something."

Beside her, Harry stiffened. "That's my uncle," he murmured.

"I remember," she said. "He slammed a door in my face once."

The clink of silverware on china dishes floated into the living room, and soft snippets of conversation drifted to their ears. "Bloody hell," Harry muttered. "They have guests." A mischievous grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Let's go break it up."

"After you," Ginny said with a smirk.

He barged into the dining room, and she followed. All conversation stopped abruptly. One lady dropped her fork onto her plate, where it landed with a loud _clang_. Vernon Dursley stared, his mouth hanging open, full of food.

"So sorry to intrude, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia," Harry said smoothly, "but your dinner party is officially over."

"Now see here," a short, round man said, "you can't just charge into a private home and…you are _trespassing_, young man."

"This…" Petunia began. She shook her head to clear away the shock and started again, "This is my nephew."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time," Harry said. "You all have to go _home_."

"You listen to me, boy," Vernon thundered. "You can't just barge in here and dismiss our guests. We washed our hands of you seven years ago."

"I didn't realize you had a cousin, Dudley," said an elderly woman.

"I _don't_," Dudley grunted.

Harry's mouth pressed into a thin line. "I'm obviously not making myself clear. My name is Harry Potter. This is my partner, Virginia Weasley. We require you to leave in the name of the law."

"Police officers?" the elderly woman said, wide-eyed. "But what could you want with our dear Vernon and Petunia?"

"If you're police officers," another man said suspiciously, "then where are your handcuffs?"

"We…er…don't carry them anymore," Ginny said. "Too many accidents, you know." She pulled her wand out of the thigh-holster and held it up for their inspection. Knowing exactly what it was, the Dursleys flinched. The rest of the guests leaned forward to inspect it. "This is standard issue now."

"How does it work?" the elderly woman asked.

"Well, we get close to the criminals and then…um…smack them with it," Ginny explained. "If you hit the right spot, you can cause temporary paralysis. No handcuffs necessary."

"And that's very interesting," Harry said, "but you all have to go home now. An escaped mass murderer has been sighted in Little Whinging, and we have concrete evidence that he's headed straight for this house."

"A…mass murderer?" the round man said, looking considerably less puffed-up. "How are you going to fight off a mass murderer with that…that little stick thing?"

Harry said impatiently, "If you go home and turn on the television, you can see it on the news. But if you don't want to die, I suggest you all leave. Immediately."

The room hung, suspended, in a moment of silence, and then there was a stampede for the door. "Wait!" Petunia shrieked. "Danette! Adrienne! Joshua! Don't go!" It was too late; but for Harry, Ginny, and the three Dursleys, the house was empty.

Ginny applauded. "Well done."

Harry flashed her an appreciative look, then turned back to the Dursleys. "You have to come with us."

"We don't have to do anything, boy, except call the _real_ police and have them cart you away for breaking and entering," Vernon blustered.

"Listen to me," Harry ordered. "The man…the _thing_ that killed my parents is on its way here, and it's going to kill you."

"He's probably lying," Dudley said. He'd cleaned his own plate, and had moved on to a guest's abandoned food.

"Look, you ungrateful Muggles," Ginny said, "Harry and I are risking our lives to save yours. We didn't have to come. We could've left you here for Lord Voldemort; goddess knows it's what you would've done for us."

Petunia's ears perked up. "A _Peer_? Coming _here_?"

"Are they really this stupid, or are they pretending?" Ginny asked incredulously. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at Vernon. "A long time ago, I said I'd kill you all if I ever saw you again, for how you treated Harry. Here I am saving your lives instead. It hasn't put me in a good mood."

Harry aimed his wand and said, "You have two seconds to come willingly, or we'll curse you and bring you anyway."

Petunia's shriek of "Kidnappers!" was drowned out by a deafening explosion of glass. Every window in the back of the house had shattered inward.

"Shit," Harry muttered. "Too late."

Ginny peeked around the corner of the door. She saw figures, cloaked in black robes, climbing in through the windows. "They're in the kitchen." She slammed the door shut and used her wand to cast a strong holding spell on it; it would be very difficult to break down. "Is there another fireplace in the house?"

"No," Harry said. "Just in the living room. If we hold the Death Eaters off, the Dursleys might be able to get there before…."

"Death…_Eaters_?" Dudley squeaked.

"They'll do a lot worse than give you a pig's tail," Harry said grimly.

Ginny reached for her pouch of Floo powder. "Listen carefully," she said. "Each of you take a pinch of this. While Harry and I distract them, you'll need to make a run for it. Get to the fireplace in the living room and then, one at a time, throw the powder into the flames, say "Hogwarts," and then step through. The fire will be green; that's normal. Keep your elbows tucked in and for god's sake, _don't get out too early_."

"What?" Vernon asked, bewildered.

Ginny threw the door open. "Go!"

She and Harry ran for the back of the house. The Dursleys stood stock-still, until they saw the first hex rocket from a Death Eater's wand and strike an ugly porcelain vase, melting it into a grotesque shape. Then, they fell all over each other, racing to the living room.

Ginny shouted "_Expelliarmus_!" A comet of light shot from her wand and slammed a Death Eater in the chest, ripping his wand from his hand and hurling him against the wall.

Harry gasped. He'd forgotten just how powerful she was when she had her wand. His hesitation cost him – a Death Eater fired a hex, and he only just managed to dodge it. The spell caught his sleeve, tearing his shirt and grazing his bicep. Pain shot down his arm until, in a flare of silver, the wound vanished. His gaze jerked to Ginny, and her eyes flashed back in a slight smile before she turned her whole attention back to the fight.

_They're still coming in_! Ginny said. _We need some kind of shield._

"_Accio_," Harry shouted, and the kitchen table flipped onto its side and rocketed across the room, stopping only when it slammed into the doorframe. He dove behind it, and she followed. It would provide cover for them, while blocking the hallway, keeping the Death Eaters out of the rest of the house.

_Good thinking._

_I do my best_, he answered, firing a hex over the top of the makeshift barrier.

Ginny sent a Death Eater crashing through the window with a well-timed curse as Harry shouted, "_Petrificus Totalus_!" knocking two Death Eaters down at once.

Ginny grabbed the collar of his shirt and jerked him back just as a hex slammed into the table, right where his hand had been sticking out. _Do you think the Dursleys are gone yet? Because if they are, there's no point to us hanging around._

Harry looked over his shoulder, down the hall, as Ginny fired another hex over the top of the table. She ducked as an answering spell sailed over her head. _I don't know_, he said. _You tell me._

Ginny tilted her head and struggled to hear the symphony in the back of her mind, tried to shut out the Death Eaters, Harry, and the small battle being waged in the Dursleys' kitchen. _There's still one left. He's not moving. I don't know…._

Harry looked back again, down the hall, and pushed his glasses up his nose. _Maybe he needs help._

Ginny grinned. _After you._

He took a deep breath, jumped up, and ran for the living room. She followed, covering his back, shooting hexes and shielding spells just as fast as she could to keep the Death Eaters from following them. In the living room, Dudley stood before the hearth, quivering. "For Christ's sake!" Ginny said, taking up a station at the door, so she could continue firing curses down the hall. "What's wrong with you?"

"M-m-mum and dad went into the fireplace, a-a-and they j-j-just disappeared!" he stammered.

"That's what's _supposed_ to happen, idiot," Ginny snapped. "Hurry up and get through so we can leave."

They heard the wooden table-barrier smash, and heavy footfalls started down the hall. Harry made a frustrated sound. "We don't have time for this." He grabbed a pinch of powder from the pouch at his belt and shouted "Hogwarts!" and then, without warning, shoved Dudley into the flames. His cousin's cry vanished in a roar of green fire.

"Go on through," Ginny said. "I'll stay and close up the Floo connection so they can't follow you, and then Apparate."

Harry nodded. _If you're not standing in the Entrance Hall in seven seconds, I'm coming back._ He stepped into the fireplace, and was gone in an instant.

Ginny backed away from the door and called up a tongue of the silver flame to wall the Dursleys' fireplace off from the Floo network. She Disapparated just as the first Death Eater stepped into the living room.

*****

Ginny Apparated in the Entrance Hall just as Harry stepped out of the fireplace. The room was pandemonium – people were either leaving or arriving through every fireplace, and first and second years scuttled around underfoot, leading Muggles into the Great Hall or to the rooms the third, fourth, and fifth years had prepared. She looked over to where Vernon and Petunia stood, their arms thrown around Dudley, cooing and petting his hair. Their arms couldn't reach all the way around him. She grimaced. Disgusting. "It's good to see you made it through all right," she said to them.

Vernon rounded on her. "Where are we? Where have you sent us? Who are all these people?"

"You're at St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys," Harry said. "Otherwise known as Hogwarts Castle. It's where I went to school."

Petunia perked up. "A _castle_?"

"Yes," Ginny said. "Someone will be along in a minute to show you to your room."

"A room?" Vernon asked, puffing out his chest. "We require a suite of rooms, young lady. Do you have any idea who we are?"

Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"We are Vernon and Petunia Dursley, aunt and uncle to _Harry Potter_, and we demand the best rooms in this castle. I know you recognize the name; the letter left on our doorstep with him explained everything. He's a _hero_ to you people. He's a _celebrity_."

Harry's mouth dropped open in outrage. Ginny smiled. It was not a nice smile. "I know _exactly_ who you are, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. You slammed a door in my face once, when I came to your house to pick Harry up for school. I'm perfectly aware that you're his aunt and uncle and I'll personally see that you're given the treatment you deserve. Sirius!" she called to the man hurrying by. She turned back to the Dursleys. "This is Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. I'm sure there's a dirty, cramped cupboard under a staircase that should do nicely for the three of you. Sirius, please see that the Dursleys' accommodations are as uncomfortable as possible."

"My pleasure," Sirius said with a nasty grin. Harry laughed.

"But…but," Dudley sputtered.

"You might want to have his stuttering problem looked at," Ginny said to Petunia. "We have an excellent mediwitch on staff." She turned away without another word.

Harry followed. "I don't think I've ever seen you so deliberately rude."

"There's never been anyone I've disliked quite so much," she countered. If she only had a few hours left, she didn't want to waste precious time being nice to people like the Dursleys.

"Where are we going now?"

Ginny looked around. "Hermione's parents are over there. It looks like Mike, Laurel, and Saturn got them out all right. Rose!" she called out. "David! Hello!" The two dentists, their features pale but trusting, turned. When they recognized Hermione's sister-in-law, they smiled and waved back. "I don't see Ria or Gwen," Ginny went on, now speaking under her breath. "They're not here, and they both have Muggle blood. If you go for Gwen, I'll get Ria."

"We'll go together," Harry said. "We're not splitting up."

Ginny sighed. "I had a feeling you'd say that." Secretly, though, she was glad. She wanted to keep him with her as long as possible, to have his company right up until the end. She could only function if she ignored the creeping dread, the terrifying memory of Mórrígan's crone face; her bravado was the only thing keeping her on her feet.

*****

"I still say you can't be trusted," Ron muttered.

"Imagine my surprise," Draco drawled. He stood back until Arabella motioned that it was safe to continue. She slipped through the heavy wooden door. Ron followed. Draco and Dana faced each other, and he inclined his head. "After you."

She scowled, but went.

The stairs to the dungeons were steep, the floor damp and slippery. Draco trailed his hand along the rough, cold stone wall to keep from slipping. When he gained the bottom of the stairs, he stopped in his tracks. "Wait," he said softly, his whisper echoing in the cavernous space.

"What?" In the darkness, Ron tersely barked his question.

Every torch had been extinguished. They were in pitch blackness; Draco's only sense of his environment was the damp, musty air and the slight rustles and moans of the prisoners. Almost without thinking, he swiftly put his back against the stone wall. Potter's warning was meant literally: _Don't turn your back to her_. He didn't want to give Dana an opportunity to sneak behind him in the darkness. "This isn't right."

"Tell us something we don't know," Dana snapped. "You keep people _locked up_ in your _basement_." She softly mocked, "_Not right_."

"Shut up, Silvermoon. If you _must_ talk, whisper. It wouldn't be wise to advertise our presence. Let me think." Draco squinted and tried to see down the hall, but only blackness met his eyes. "There are supposed to be lights. They've all been put out."

There was a beat of silence. Then, Arabella asked, "Why?"

"How should I know? I wasn't here to vote on the decision; I was busy saving Weasley's brother from a cave-in."

Draco didn't have to be able to see in the dark to know that Ron had rolled his eyes. "So, what do you suggest? That we stand here and talk about how you're afraid of the dark while my parents sit in a cell somewhere and –"

"The Ginny-esque histrionics aren't helping." As calm as could be, Draco put up his hand and grabbed Ron's wrist, stopping his fist just before it collided with Draco's nose. "I've learned a thing or two from your sister," he whispered, a sneer in his voice. "Do you really want to fight me? I don't need to be able to see you to kick your arse."

"We're wasting time!" Arabella hissed.

Draco could barely make out Ron's face, the slight curve of his chin, the flash of his eyes, centimeters from his own. "Your call, Weasley," he said in an undertone.

Ron's face screwed up in fury, but he stepped away.

Draco thought aloud. "We can't go anywhere in the dark…we'll have to light our wands. But just a little, and be prepared to put them out at a moment's notice."

Ron and Arabella whispered, "_Lumos_," but Dana remained silent.

"Silvermoon?" Draco prompted.

Dana turned to him. The dim light highlighted her sunken eyes. Draco could barely discern her silvery irises from their dark, shadowed sockets. She looked like a walking corpse, and he suppressed a shiver. "I'd better not," she whispered, tightening her grip on her wand. "It…it would be too bright."

If she wasn't going to light her wand, then he wouldn't either. He wouldn't give her any advantage, however slight. "After you, then."

Ron muttered "_Coward_," under his breath.

"Then would _you_ like to be the one to watch our backs for ambushes? You're not even a field agent." Draco snapped, his patience finally wearing thin. Silence was Ron's answer. "I didn't think so. Just go. I'll be behind you."

"How do we know you're not going to disappear while our backs are turned and tell them we're here?" Arabella asked.

Draco's lips compressed, and even in the dim light, the aggravation in his eyes was evident. "I won't," he said evenly. "You'll just have to trust me." It had been a fair question, but one that rankled.

"But how do we know –" Arabella began, but Draco cut her off.

"I think Weasley knows why," he said, his eyes gleaming with sudden understanding. "Or if he doesn't, he can use his imagination."

Until that very moment, Ron honestly hadn't any idea why Draco had walked into the Great Hall with Ginny and Harry. He remembered Hermione's explanation – _two men, born to protect the Pendragon with their lives_ – and shot Draco a glare so full of fury, Draco could hardly believe it came from a Gryffindor. "He's all right," Ron said to Arabella and Dana. "He's not going to leave us."

"But _why_?" Dana pressed. "You can't expect us to believe it without a reason."

"Because Ginny told him not to," Ron said shortly, "and that's all the reason you need." Without another word, he turned and walked away. After a suspicious glance at Draco, Arabella followed.

Once again, Draco and Dana were left staring at each other. The lights from Ron and Arabella's wands were getting further away, their glow dimming. "Go on," Dana said.

"You first."

A long shudder wracked her body. He stood firm, and made no move to help her. Finally, her sunken eyes slid away from his direct gaze, and she started down the hall. Draco followed, his wand in his hand and at the ready.

They caught up with the others just in time. Arabella had let out a low cry, and was rushing for the bars of a nearby cell. Draco caught her before she could get within arm's reach. "Don't," he said tersely.

"That's Agent Percivale in there," she protested. "I trained him."

"Don't," Draco repeated. "We're here to get Ginny's family, not to rescue every Auror you happen to recognize."

"He was the best dueler in his recruitment class," Arabella said, casting a desperate glance over Draco's shoulder to the dirty man in the cell, who sat on the floor and didn't pay the people outside the slightest bit of attention. "He could help us."

"I doubt that." Even when he was talking to Arabella, he was watching Dana. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her since they'd Apparated. Coiled tension wound his body tight; every sense he possessed was fixed wholly on her, ready to use his wand if she so much as sneezed suspiciously. She leaned against the opposite wall, watching him with the same hungry, predatory expression Delia had worn at the castle. Her skin was waxy and slick with sweat. Her breath came in heavy, panting gasps, and her eyes were glazed with silver. She was shaking, but she and Draco were the only ones who knew it wasn't from the cold dungeon air.

"You _doubt_ it, you do?" Arabella demanded. "I'm not inclined to take the word of a Death Eater. There's no reason we should believe you."

Draco affected a long-suffering tone. "If you so much as got near that cell, he'd have your wand from you faster than you could move, and the next second, you, Weasley, and Silvermoon would be dead."

"What are you talking about?" Ron said. "He's an _Auror_, Malfoy. Why would he want to hurt us?"

"After a little bit of deprogramming, a little bit of _Imperius_, and a lot of torture, they're ready to do anything we tell them," Draco explained, his voice as harsh as the story he told. "Hell, they're eager for it. They'll call anyone Master, just to stop the pain. They'll hate Aurors if we tell them to hate Aurors, which we do, and they'll kill them on sight if that's what the Dark Lord wants, which he does."

"Why?" Ron was aghast as he realized the answer to his question. "You send them into situations that are highly –"

"Highly dangerous, yes," Draco interrupted impatiently. "Too dangerous to risk Death Eaters. Prisoners are expendable."

Arabella's upper lip curled in disgust. "That's abominable. I don't even know the words to describe such evil."

"Really?" Draco snapped, unable to keep a note of bitterness from his words. "Be careful; you might hurt my feelings."

Ron glared. "How do you know so much about Percivale?"

Draco flicked his eyes, cold and businesslike, to Ron. "Because, Weasel, I trained him myself."

The moment he looked away from Dana, her wand was in her hand and aimed at his forehead. Luckily, Draco's reflexes had always been excellent. In the space of a heartbeat, his wand was pointed back at her.

"Potter told me what happened at Fletcher's flat," he said with soft, velvet menace. "I won't be as noble. If you so much as _think_ about firing at me, I'll kill you."

"Are you threatening me?" Dana asked. Her wand shook as her body trembled with latent power.

"I don't make threats," Draco said, "only promises."

Just then, an explosion rocketed down the hall. Dana and Draco both turned, their incipient duel forgotten, as Death Eaters swarmed into the dungeon.

*****

Mike, with Agents Laurel and Saturn, Apparated in front of a small stone farmhouse. The wind whipped their hair and the long grasses under their feet. Above the house floated a Dark Mark. It lighted their faces with green, sickly and gruesome.

"We're too late," said Laurel. "They got here first. We have to get out of here, in case there are still some Death Eaters hanging around."

"Hold on," Mike protested, grabbing her arm to keep her from Disapparating. "There might be people inside."

"Not live ones," Saturn said.

"Are we just going to _leave_?" Mike demanded.

"What else can we do?" said Saturn. "You think we're the only group tonight that's run into a house that the Death Eaters have reached first?"

"But…" Mike looked up at the skull, floating in the sky. "Cho Chang lives here. She was on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team with me. It doesn't seem _right_ to –"

Laurel squeezed his shoulder. Her sympathetic eyes belied the businesslike tone of her next words, "The Bones family is next on our list. Let's go." They Disapparated.

Inside the house, five Death Eaters stepped over the bodies that littered the floor, and crowded around the fireplace. "They can't have been so foolish as to leave it connected to the network."

"But who would know to _disconnect_ it?" another pointed out. "We won't know unless we try."

"And if it works?"

"Then we send a message to the others," a third man said, "telling them that the enemy is vulnerable."

The first man took a pinch of powder and threw it into the flames. "Hogwarts," he said, and stepped inside.

*****

Draco fired hexes just as fast as he could think of them. _Stupefied_ Death Eaters lay in piles all around the hall.

"Malfoy!" Ron called from the opposite alcove.

"What?" he snapped, leaning out to shoot a particularly nasty, disfiguring curse. The target wizard screamed, and Draco smiled to himself.

"Arabella is hurt." His voice was panicky. "She was hit in the leg."

"Then heal her, idiot!" he shouted. "Do I really have to tell you that?"

There was a moment of silence, only broken by the whiz of spells hurtling through the air.

"I don't know how," Ron finally said. "Hermione was always better at this kind of thing."

Draco swore under his breath. "Have Silvermoon do it."

"She says that if she tried to help, it would only make the wound worse."

He groaned, shot an apprehensive look over his shoulder at the opposite alcove, and shouted "_Stupefy_!" three more times while he worked up his nerve. All three found their marks, and for the first time, Draco acknowledged that there might have been some benefit to having Ginny bleed into him.

"Come _on_," Ron said. "What are you waiting for?"

Draco looked across the hall again at the opposite alcove, and then peeked around the edge of his own. All was silent. "I've been keeping count. There's still one more Death Eater on his feet. I'm not moving until I know where he is."

Ron glared. "He's probably run away, if he hasn't fired at us yet. Just move. I don't know how much time Arabella has."

Draco tightened his grip on his wand and set his teeth. Blood pounding, he dashed into the hallway. His foot caught on an uneven flagstone, and he went sprawling, the hard stone floor knocking the wind out of him. His wand skittered away into the darkness. He quickly rolled onto his back, and saw a tall, robed figure, like the specter of death, standing over him. The Death Eater raised his wand, and Draco could only lay, helpless. He screwed his eyes shut and threw up his hands, even though he knew it would be useless.

"_Avada_ –"

And then, another voice –

"_Avada Kedavra_!" 

A cold wind ruffled his hair, and a split-second later, a dead weight crashed onto his chest. He tentatively cracked one eye open, and then the other, when he realized that the body on top of him belonged to the Death Eater, and that he was still alive. He pulled back the hood, and saw it was MacNair. Then, he focused on the figure towering above him.

"The killing curse, Silvermoon?" was all he could say.

Dana sheathed her wand and fixed him with a glare of pure malice. "Revenge for Seamus, Malfoy, and a life debt for you. Someday, I'll be back to collect." As she vanished in a flash of silver light, her smile was nothing short of depraved.

Draco shut his eyes again. "_Bugger_!"

Ron's voice pierced his red-hot fury. "Where did she go?"

Draco sat up and glared. "How would I know? But she'll be back. _Bloody hell_! Ginny's going to –"

"Remember Arabella?" Ron interrupted. "We can worry about Dana later."

"I'm worrying about her _now_," Draco snapped, groping around on the floor for his wand. He finally closed his hand around it, and then crawled over to Ron's alcove. "She's gone mad, and now she's loose somewhere, and I owe her a life debt. Ginny will be –"

"Since when do you care about what Ginny thinks?" Ron shot back, scooting over to make room for Draco by Arabella's side.

Draco flashed Ron a warning glare. He was _not_ in the mood to talk about Ginny. As he closed up the gash in Arabella's leg, he told her "You should lie still for a few minutes. There shouldn't be any more danger down here. Not for you, anyway."

Her nod was weak. Ron shrugged out of his robe and wadded it up in a ball. He slid it beneath her head as a makeshift pillow and said, "That should help a little. Malfoy, give her yours too."

"Does she really need two?" Draco said, talking about Arabella as though she weren't right there. "This is a dungeon, not a hotel."

"For a blanket, you stupid prat. The floor is cold."

Draco sighed, and slipped his own robe off. His hands were surprisingly gentle, though, as he spread it over her. "Come on, Weasley. The sooner we go, the sooner this is over with."

Ron turned back to Arabella. "When we find them, we'll come back for you and go back to Hogwarts."

The two unlikely allies ran off into darkness.

*****

Ginny grabbed Ria's hand. "Move!" she shouted. "Get to the fireplace. Harry and I will cover you."

Ria ran. Harry fired shielding spells just as fast as his mouth could form the words. Ginny had given up on formal spells a long time ago. Her mind and wand were operating in syncopation; incantations were unnecessary. She heard the flames roar, and knew Ria got through safely. "You go next," she told Harry. "I'll stay behind to close the connection, and then follow you."

He pressed a hard, quick kiss to her mouth. "Hurry," he said, and then ran. Ginny shielded him the whole way, and he vanished in a flash of green fire. She turned, ready to wall Ria's fireplace off from the Floo network, when an explosion knocked her off her feet. Smoke choked her lungs and, sprawled on the ground, she doubled over with coughing.

The cloud of ash cleared, and a tall, thin column of a man materialized. Ginny tipped her chin up and forced herself to meet his eyes. Could this possibly be the nightmare from her youth, the charismatic young man who'd ensnared her mind and stolen her will? This creature with his flattened face and red eyes like slits? She froze, her muscles seized in raw panic and her mind reeled as she clung to reason by her fingernails. She tried to reconcile the monster before her with the monster that had risen from the diary.

Rough binding spells grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her. Someone wrenched her wand out of her fist. Ginny stood, immobile, her chest heaving, and wondered if it was possible to go mad from fear. She'd turned off her emotions back at the castle, but she couldn't ignore them any more. The bravado that had kept her upright during the day's ordeal faltered and then failed as Badb's noxious, destructive power choked off her air, but Ginny saw that it was focused around the black ring, rather than spread throughout Voldemort's aura. He might wear the goddess's talisman, but he hadn't yet unlocked its secrets.

"Another Auror to add to our collection," Voldemort said. "Badb will be pleased with the mortal blood spilled for her tonight."

Ginny looked wildly around the room. Could he really not know who she was? But of course he didn't. He'd never laid eyes on her before. The Tom she'd known had been a memory, a shadow of evil frozen in time. She took deep breaths and tried to think clearly, to come up with a plan, but before she could form even the most rudimentary thoughts, Tom was speaking again. "Get the Floo powder."

The next moment, they were whirling through the Floo network. Ginny barely had time to catch her breath before they landed at Hogwarts. She fell to the floor in a heap, and binding spells once again closed around her arms and jerked her to her feet. The Great Hall was pandemonium. Everywhere, Death Eaters were subduing Aurors, Professors, and students. How could it all have gone so terribly wrong? The dark wizards were looking to their leader for instructions.

"Bring me Harry Potter and the traitor," Voldemort ordered.

Roughly, Harry and Draco were dragged to the front of the crowd. The Dark Lord's lips parted in a ghastly smile. Ginny met their eyes; they both strained against the spells that held them, but there were too many wands, too many Death Eaters to fight them all.

The Dark Lord raised his wand to Harry.

"No!" Ginny cried, writhing against her bonds. "No! Stop!"

Voldemort ignored her. "The killing curse almost seems too quick for all the trouble you've put me through," he mused, tracing Harry's scar with his wand. Harry reared back and spat full-on in the Dark Lord's face. The slit of a mouth contorted with fury, and he opened his mouth to call the green wind of death.

"_Tom_!" Ginny screamed.

Voldemort froze.

"I'm the one you want!" She was shouting herself hoarse. Not Harry; it wasn't his time. She couldn't stand here and watch him die, not while there was anything she could do. "Are you listening to me? I'm the one you want!"

"Ginny!" Harry yelled, "_shut up_!"

Voldemort rounded on her. "Where did you hear that name?" he demanded. "Tell me this instant."

Ginny looked up into his eyes and reminded herself, _The length of my life and the day of my death were fated long ago_. "There's a chain around my neck, under my shirt," she said, her words carrying throughout the hall, reaching the ears of captives and Death Eaters alike. "Look at it."

She shuddered as his long, bone-white finger, cold and rubbery, trailed along her collarbone. The digit hooked beneath her silver chain and pulled out the diamond ring. His eyes widened when he saw the dragons etched on the sides.

"Here I am," Ginny said. "You've found the one you were looking for."

"_You_ are the Pendragon?" Voldemort said in scornful disbelief.

"Yes." There wasn't a person in the cavernous hall who hadn't heard her answer. "My name is Virginia Weasley, and I am the Pendragon."

"Join me," Voldemort commanded.

Ginny suppressed the urge to laugh at this ridiculous idea and looked past him, to Harry and Draco, who had redoubled their efforts to escape their magical bonds. "No."

Voldemort motioned to the Death Eaters who held her binding spells, and they released her. Ginny stumbled, but quickly regained her footing. She faced the Dark Lord, so close she could feel the cold radiating from his body. Again her eyes flicked past him, this time falling on Harry's scar. And then, she understood. _The length of my life and the day of my death_....

"Join me," he said, "and I'll give you power beyond your wildest dreams."

"It's already mine, whether I join you or not."

"If we combine our power, we will rid the Wizarding world of its Muggle taint once and for all."

Ginny forced her face into an arrogant smirk. "And this is supposed to make me think it's a good idea? That's rich coming from you, _Tom_."

The next second, her head snapped to the side as he backhanded her across the mouth.

She turned her eyes back to his. "What's the matter, _Tom_? Your followers don't know that your father was a Muggle?" She glanced to other side of the room, where Draco's father held Sirius in a binding curse. "Does Lucius Malfoy know that you're no different from the people he's locked up for you in the dungeons beneath his house? That you're no better than the dozens of people you and your kind murdered tonight? That every single time you say the word Mudblood, Tom, you're referring to yourself?"

He raised his wand. Ginny had just enough time to clench her teeth against a scream before he shouted, "_Crucio_!"

She dropped to the floor, writhing in agony, pain beyond pain, but she did not cry out. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She dimly heard shouts – Mike, Ron, Harry, Draco – before the pain filled her mind, and blocked her ears. Then, it ended.

"Join me," the Dark Lord said once more.

Ginny raised her head and looked up from the ground at the tall, black column of his body. "No." 

"_Crucio_."

She felt like she was being turned inside out. Her blood boiled as her heart and lungs strained against her rib cage, struggling to jump out of her chest. When it ended, she slumped to the floor in sweet relief. She wouldn't scream. She wouldn't lose her pride. She wouldn't beg. She wouldn't fight back. She would keep provoking him…keep pressing him closer to that line….

"You will sit at my right hand," Voldemort said. "I will even let the Potter boy live, if it is what you wish. Or, you can lie here, prostrate at my feet, and die."

Ginny's heart hammered inside her chest as she slowly raised herself up on one elbow, her head still hanging down, eyes fixed on the stone floor. She couldn't draw breath enough for a good tirade, but she could still provoke him, let his ego run away with his good sense. "You're not worth…the dirt on the soles…of my feet. You've corrupted yourself… so thoroughly… that you've become… the dark arts you practice. You're not even… human anymore. You're a Mudblood… in the true sense of the word, Tom. Everything about you… is polluted."

"_Crucio_!"

Her elbow flew out from under her at the sudden explosion of agony, and Ginny's face slammed into the flagstones. She sank her teeth into her lower lip until the blood came, but still she would not scream.

"I could let the traitor live too," Voldemort said, "if you wished it. It would not take much to make him loyal to me once more. I made him what he is, after all. I made all three of you what you have become." He used his wand to gently push Harry's fringe aside, uncovering the lightning bolt on his forehead. Harry writhed at the explosion of hot, blinding pain in his head. "And you all have the scars to prove it. Harry Potter," he sneered, "the Boy Who Lived, who saved the world once, and now believes he's forever obligated to repeat the performance. Unless he is rescuing someone, he is of no worth to anyone.

"Then we have Draco Malfoy, the traitor," he trailed a finger over Draco's Dark Mark. Draco fought to contain his reaction, but the pain was too agonizing, and he cried out. "You are so very much like me, and yet so very unlike. Growing up in my shadow has turned you into a creature of unrelenting ambition and ruthlessness. Your humanity is a weakness, and I am not the source."

Voldemort turned back to Ginny and, with a flick of his wand, raised her from the floor, and set her on her feet. "You are the cause of his betrayal. _Virginia Weasley_. I remember you now. My servant, Lucius Malfoy, told me how he gave you my diary. My younger self must have had such fun with you, you stupid, naive little girl. Using you, poisoning you, turning you into my weapon…"

Ginny shook her head frantically, a gasp of horror escaping through lips pressed tightly together.

"I have had more of a hand in _your_ life than in your protectors'," the Dark Lord went on. "You are my greatest creation, my own dark Galatea. Your scars aren't visible, but they're there. I can _feel_ them."

"Stop," she said, her voice tinged with subtle menace, an unspoken challenge. She took a deep breath, and threw down the gauntlet. "I don't want to hear anymore. Just kill me, if that's what you're going to do."

Voldemort went on as though he hadn't heard her. "You and I both understand, Pendragon, perhaps better than anyone else in this hall, that when you look long into the abyss, the abyss looks back into you. We are the same. I am in you, just as I am in Potter, and the traitor. I am victorious. Join me."

"Never." The single word was backed by centuries of undisputed power, weighted with ancient authority. "I _am not_ and will _never be_ your Galatea."

"That makes no difference. I have already won," he said. "Look around you! The hall is full of my Death Eaters. Potter and the traitor are in my power. Hogwarts has fallen to me, and Dumbledore has been defeated."

"Dumbledore doesn't matter." Ginny's eyes glittered dangerously. "You haven't won until I lay dead at your feet."

Voldemort looked at her for a minute that lasted an age. "I _am_ going to kill you," he finally said, motioning to the Death Eaters who stood behind Ginny. They gave her a hard shove, and she fell to her knees, "and I'm going to let Potter watch. Then, I'm going to kill him, and the traitor, and that Mudblood-loving fool, Albus Dumbledore. You'll die knowing that they're about to follow you, and that you're leaving the Wizarding World without the protection of the Pendragon."

Ginny tried to remember the Norse warriors who met their fate unafraid; she reached blindly for the courage to face what she knew had to be done. The world held suspended as she thought of Harry, Draco, Mike, her parents and brothers, Ria, Gwen, Hermione…the future she would never have but wanted madly, desperately. She took a deep breath and steeled herself.

"Are you ready for death?" Voldemort taunted.

Ginny raised her head and met his gaze straight on. "No," she said. "No, I'm not."

"Then beg me."

"I'd rather die."

Voldemort cackled. "It would be my pleasure."

Magical bonds sprung from the wands of the Death Eaters behind her, fastening her shoulders to the floor. He wouldn't be happy just killing her; he had to humiliate her too, have her bound at his feet, forehead on the cold stone floor.

It was as if the entire world were moving in slow motion. She heard every sound, felt every ripple in the air. But in a cruel twist of irony, she was bound by the same slowness of action and response. She didn't struggle.

Voldemort raised his wand. "_Avada_ –"

Harry and Draco finally wrestled free of their binding spells and swung their wands up to the Dark Lord's back.

From her place on the floor, Ginny shouted to them, "Don't!"

They hesitated, just long enough for Voldemort to finish the incantation.

"_Kedavra_."

A cold wind swept through the hall as the green jet of light slammed into Ginny's back with bone-crushing force. Her small frame twisted and writhed in agony. The dark spell was ripping her life out of her body. The days and weeks and years that would have been hers were burning away, the hours slipping through her fingers like fine grains of sand. Her screams, instead of cutting off mid-breath, only grew louder. The green light swirled around her in a sickly aura. It soaked into her skin and, as she continued to scream, slowly transmuted to silver. Ginny took onto herself as much of it as she could bear, and then threw down the walls separating her from Harry and Draco. The rest of the curse streaked through the links, flooding the protectors' bodies with its soul-twisting pain, spreading the impact among the three of them. She held onto the magic with all her might, let its momentum gather, and then jerked it out of the protectors and pushed as hard as she could. It lashed out of her body in a great explosion of Otherworldly light, sending the Dark Lord crashing to the ground, scattering the Death Eaters. The magical bonds that held the resistance fighters dissolved, but no one moved. Everyone stood still, stunned.

Ginny lifted her head just off the ground and saw Voldemort, who lay across the floor. His thin chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Only Badb's ring had kept him from being torn from his body, as had happened the last time a killing curse had backfired on him. He was corporeal, but extremely weak. _Weak enough to finally kill_. She raised her eyes to Harry, who stood above her. She could only croak two words. "He's yours." Draco fell to his knees beside Ginny, but Harry remained standing.

He understood what Ginny was saying. Harry looked down into the hated face, the man who'd murdered his parents and countless others, had almost murdered Ginny. "Open your eyes," he demanded. Voldemort didn't move. Harry felt hate, ugly and dark, clawing up through his chest. He aimed a vicious kick at the Dark Lord's ribs and shouted, "Open your eyes!" The red, snake-like eyes slowly cracked open, and glared at Harry with loathing. "I want you to see me," Harry said. "You killed so many people, and ruined so many lives. You murdered my parents twenty three years ago, and tonight you nearly murdered the woman I love. We've hunted each other all my life, and now I'm finally going to kill you."

"What do you want, Potter? Do you want me to beg, like your mother?" Voldemort wheezed, venom in his voice. "Or like the Pendragon's father? He begged me for mercy. He died like a coward, my name on his lips."

"No," Harry responded, unfazed by his opponent's dying lies. "I don't want you to beg. I just want you to die." With two words, Harry's wand erupted in green light. A cold shadow swept from the room, cowering those in its wake with the malevolence of it's final piercing scream. All was silent for the space of a heartbeat while the green shadow fled, torn away like a flag in the wind.

"He's dead," Harry announced in a quiet, rough voice. The room erupted. Death Eaters who were close enough to fireplaces ran into the flames, fleeing to goddess only knew where. The ones who weren't close enough to escape were quickly overwhelmed by the Aurors and Professors. People were screaming, shouting, even laughing with unrestrained joy.

The green light had only just started to fade, and Harry was already turning back to Ginny. As he knelt down and wrapped his arms around her to help her stand, his fingers connected with a thin, raised line of skin. She had a lightning bolt scar on her left shoulder blade. She'd believed that her life would be the cost for weakening the Dark Lord enough to kill, and had been willing to pay that price. She'd had no way of knowing that she'd survive an _Avada Kedavra_. Harry's throat worked, but he couldn't find the words to answer the sacrifice that she'd been willing to make. He braced his arms under hers, rested her chin on his shoulder, and heaved her to her feet.

Over Harry's shoulder, Ginny saw Lucius Malfoy bending down over the body of the Dark Lord. He'd crept through the seething mass of people, and was now sliding the obsidian ring from the long, bony finger of his fallen leader. Ginny grabbed Harry's wand and swung it up, marshalling the last shredded remnants of her power. Just as she fired, Draco slammed into her, knocking all three of them to the ground, and her curse flew wide, decapitating a marble statue on the other side of the room. As she watched from the floor, Lucius put the goddess's ring onto his own finger, his face crazed with lust for power.

She could only stare helplessly from the floor as the ring slid home. A great cloud of dark, Otherworldly power rushed through the hall. The temperature plunged and the candles guttered, leaving the hall in semidarkness, lit only by the light that slowly spread over Lucius's body. The crowd crashed into stunned silence. Lucius's face lit with a demonic fire. His aura melted around him as his humanity dissolved.

The next moment, Ginny felt an almighty _crack_ in the barrier that held the Otherworld apart from the world of mortals. Every muscle in her body contracted. Her back arched as her fingers clawed at the stone floor; her ears rang and her breath was knocked right out of her as the sticky, black magic swamped the man now wearing Badb's ring. She was dimly aware that Delia Silvermoon, too, had cried out. Then, just as quickly, it was over.

Lucius leaned down and, with a quick, light touch, brushed a strand of red hair out of her face. "You look much like my sister, when she is young," he said quietly, so that only Ginny could hear.

She searched Lucius's bloodshot eyes. Voldemort had been a strong enough wizard to hold the barrier that kept Badb from coming into this world. In his vanity, Lucius had believed that he, too, was powerful enough to take on the goddess. He had drastically misjudged. Ginny saw that the aura surrounding the man's body was the pure, bright silver of a goddess. This body no longer housed Lucius Malfoy. Badb had gained entrance to the mortal world.

"You understand," Badb said, tilting her head. "Can you see me, Pendragon?"

Ginny slowly nodded. The goddess smirked. "Mórrígan and Tom are so predictable. The fools played right into my hands." The next moment, the goddess vanished.

It was a struggle for Ginny just to draw breath. She glared at Draco with undisguised rage. "Are you insane? What were you thinking?"

"He's my _father_," Draco snapped back. "Was I supposed to stand by and let you _kill_ him?"

"This is a hell of a time to turn _filial_, Malfoy!" 

"If I am, then it's your fault!"

"That _thing_ isn't your father," she informed him. "Your father was dead from the moment he put the ring on his finger. And now Badb is loose in this world; the barrier is broken. I don't –"

Ginny cut off as a paroxysm of coughing wracked her body. She shoved Harry off of her and rolled onto her stomach. Silver fluid, like liquid mercury came from her mouth, coating her chin and dripping onto the floor.

"It's blood. She's coughing up blood," Draco said, closing his hands about her shoulders. He saw the raised lightning bolt and sent Harry a worried glance.

Harry ground out through clenched teeth, "Don't touch her."

"Potter," Draco started, "he gave her a scar –"

"Don't touch her!" Harry shouted, throwing himself at Draco. Draco tumbled back, his grip on Ginny broken. Harry wiped her bloody chin with his sleeve and murmured to himself, "The blood is probably from the Cruciatus Curse. He hit her as hard as he could." He said to her, "Ginny, you might have some internal bleeding."

She coughed again. Silver blood sprayed his black cloak. _Do you think_? she croaked into his head. _Harry, he said…he said that my dad…_

Draco jumped. Their link was no longer blocked. He'd heard her speak. "Use your power to heal yourself, like you did on Avalon," he ordered.

Ginny shook her head as her body convulsed in another coughing fit. Her hands, her clothes, the floor were all spattered with silver. _I can't._

"What the hell do you mean, you can't?" Draco demanded.

_I mean I can't. My magic is gone._

"Gone?" Harry echoed. That did not bode well. He held her hair out of the way as she retched a fresh torrent of blood, and his eyes widened. The sheer physical stress of intentionally absorbing and repelling a killing curse had turned the golden threads of her hair to silver.

_I'm just like a Muggle_. She'd used more Otherworldly power in the past few hours than she had in all her twenty-two years put together. She hadn't paced herself, and redirecting Voldemort's curse and then trying to stop Lucius had finished her off. There was nothing left.

"No powers at all?" Draco asked. He looked dumbfounded.

There was no answer. Ginny was out cold.

"Madame Pomfrey!" Harry shouted, his voice tinged with panic. "We need to get her to the hospital wing right away."

The school nurse pushed through the frozen crowd. "Pick her up," she ordered. "Follow me."

Harry scooped her limp body into his arms. Draco followed behind. The crowd parted silently for them, and as they passed through, every head bowed. Those old enough to recall the dreams that heralded her birth remembered how she had announced herself: their servant, and their sovereign. She was unconscious, and missed the silent tribute.

*****

And that's it for G9. Stay tuned for Galatea's final chapter, "Baptism." We'll find out what happened to the missing Weasleys, Dumbledore tries to organize the Aurors, Draco makes a choice that will affect the rest of his life, and Ginny and Mórrígan have a long overdue discussion.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed G9. Each and every one of you is appreciated more than I can say. You all are my heroes. Extra thanks to everyone this time around for waiting so patiently for G9. I appreciate all your support.


	10. Baptism

**Chapter 10**

Baptism

This chapter is dedicated to Josephine, who keeps insisting that Draco and Ginny want to have dozens of dysfunctional babies, to Lea, who kept me motivated, and to Whitney, who wrote me the loveliest email imaginable. I hope you had a wonderful birthday.

_The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears;  
Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name.  
Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears,  
Transforming me into a shape of flame._

I will come out, back to your world of tears,  
A stronger soul within a finer frame.

-- "Baptism" by Claude McKay

Shouts echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the hospital wing. Harry and Draco paid no attention to the beds full of wounded fighters; their entire concern was focused on the gray-haired bundle in Harry's arms. Madam Pomfrey opened a door in the back and led them into a small room. There were five beds, and she jerked open the curtains of the one closest to the door. "Lay her here."

Harry obeyed, and the Mediwitch began running her wand over Ginny's limbs, muttering under her breath.

"Diagnostic charms are pointless!" Draco berated. "We already know what's wrong. Just _fix_ her."

"Shut up and let her work," Harry snapped, worried lines around his eyes.

"Both of you be quiet," Madam Pomfrey said. "This is a delicate job." 

"If Ginny dies because you've wasted time with unnecessary spells –" Draco began.

"Oh, so you have a Mediwizard's diploma now?" Harry interrupted, moving to the other side of the bed to give Madam Pomfrey more room. "I think she'd know better than you what's best for Ginny."

"Silence, or you'll both have to leave," Madam Pomfrey announced.

They fell silent, but glared at each other, their enmity etched on their faces. The door creaked partway open and Bill slipped in, followed by the rest of his family. The twins supported Mrs. Weasley, one on each side. Mike slid in after them, walking with a limp.

"Family only," Madam Pomfrey ordered, glancing up.

"He can stay," Harry said. Mike flashed him a grateful look. "You should have someone look at your leg," Harry told him.

Mike shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said hoarsely. "It won't kill me."

At his words, everyone in the room held their breath. Mike flushed, his eyes shooting to Ginny's still, pale body. "She's going to be all right," he declared. "She has to be. Potter, you promised me you wouldn't let her die." His voice broke as he repeated, "You _promised_ me…."

"If you go on like that, you'll have to leave," Harry said. His tone was flat.

Mike drew a shaky breath and murmured an apology. He looked like he wanted to draw nearer to the bed, but with Harry and Draco standing guard, he didn't dare.

But for the Mediwitch's rapid spell casting, the small room was silent.

*****

_Ginny turned in a full circle. The gentle sun brushed her face with its warm caress. Rolling green hills stretched out on all sides and the horizon was smudged with the purple of mountains. The soft, sighing breeze carried to her ears the quiet splashing of water flowing over rock, the trilling birds, and the gentle laughter of the people who lived there. In contrast to the Otherworld – where everything was sharp, clear, and immediate – this place seemed blurred at the edges, nothing more than a pleasant dream. "Where are we?"_

Mórrígan said, "It is many things to many people. The Norse named it Valhalla, the Greeks, Elysium, and the Christians call it Heaven."

Ginny's lips thinned as she pressed them together. "I shouldn't be here."

Mórrígan arched an eyebrow. "No? You believe you would be more comfortable in hell?"

"I shouldn't be here at all_!" Ginny objected._

"Virginia, this is the land of eternal peace. Only you would be dissatisfied with it." The goddess sounded like she was holding back laughter.

"But I'm not dead_," Ginny said through clenched teeth._

"Ah," Mórrígan murmured. "How can you be sure?"

Ginny was taken aback, but only for a moment. "I would know," she insisted stubbornly.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific than that," Mórrígan said, her youthful eyes shining with wicked amusement. "The crone washed your robe. Not three hours later, you're standing in the land where heroes reap their rewards. I'm afraid your situation is quite straightforward, Virginia."

"But…" Ginny looked wildly around. "But Badb is in my world."

The goddess's red eyes sparked on hearing her sister's name. "Yes."

"So I can't be here. I haven't set the balance right!"

"Perhaps you failed," Mórrígan said, her voice flat, "because anyone can see that you are_ here."_

"That doesn't make any sense," Ginny insisted. "I couldn't have failed."

"No?" Mórrígan asked. "You've botched your first campaign every possible way, and finished it off by taunting your enemy until he killed_ you. I'd call that a spectacular failure."_

"He didn't kill_ me!"_

"How do you know_?" Mórrígan demanded._

They stood nose-to-nose for an interminable time, Ginny seething, Mórrígan as inscrutable as ever.

"I'm not afraid of you," Ginny finally said.

"It took you long enough," Mórrígan taunted.

"You didn't get me," Ginny continued in that same, soft tone. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you? You didn't get me_. You washed my robe, and I didn't die."_

"Some might call that denial."

"I'm not_ in denial!" Ginny swore, frustrated._

"Oh?"

Ginny didn't rise to the goddess's bait, and Mórrígan chose another tack. "The crone washed your robe. You were fated to die. How could you have escaped the hand of fate?"

Ginny's brown eyes held the Goddess's crimson ones, hypnotized. Mórrígan was trying to tell her something. "There's no way I could've escaped fate," Ginny repeated, "but I did."

The goddess was silent.

The next moment, Ginny's entire reality fractured. Nothing was as she'd thought. Her knees were suddenly weak, and she grabbed a tree trunk to keep from falling. "Oh, no."

"And now, you finally see," Mórrígan murmured.

"There's no such thing as fate," Ginny whispered, astounded. "There's no such thing. If there were, I'd be dead."

The young goddess nodded. "Well done, Virginia."

"But…but how is that possible_? You're the _goddess_ of fate. Everyone has a fate set out for them at birth…. What do you _do_ all day, if fate doesn't exist?"_

Mórrígan's smiled vanished. "I am the Phantom Queen of the Otherworld," she said coolly. "I also keep Macha and Badb from killing each other. It's harder than it sounds. And I'm the goddess of fertility, and war, and –"

"You're avoiding the question."

"Everyone has a destiny_ set out for them at birth, when the Universe decrees each person's potential," she explained, adopting a lecturing tone. "It is my job to point mortals in the right direction. This is fate. No one is obligated to listen to me, although they always do." She tossed her hair. "I'm very persuasive."_

"You're vain, is what you are."

"And you are the most disrespectful champion I've ever known," Mórrígan said with a censorious glare. "The point is, Virginia, the crone told you that you were fated to die, but you used your powers to escape that decree. You are the first person to ever attempt to exercise her free will when faced with an Otherworldly death sentence."

"So you admit that I'm still alive."

"Yes, for now. No thanks to your leadership tactics."

Ginny gaped. "I beg your pardon?"

"An evacuation?" Mórrígan demanded. "Where did you get that stupid idea? It was overly risky, spread your people's resources too thin, drained your own powers completely, and ensured that you had the defenseless Muggles and children all grouped in the same place for my sister's minions to find!"

The goddess gripped Ginny's chin and lifted it roughly. Her piercing, ruthless gaze made Ginny squirm. "The warrior mother taught you better than that," Mórrígan growled. "You knew_ it was a disastrous idea; you _must_ have. And yet you did it anyway. Why? What could have come over you? You are not careless by nature, Virginia, but tonight, when it really mattered, you…." She trailed off and shook her head, mystified._

Ginny didn't know how to answer, and at last Mórrígan released her. She hadn't found the answers to her questions in Ginny's eyes. "Now, Virginia, you have a decision to make."

Ginny blinked. "I do?"

"You are the guardian of balance in the mortal world, and I am the guardian in the Otherworld. Badb must eliminate one of us to seize control. She has weighed her options, and decided she had a better chance against you."

"That's why she broke into my world?" Ginny asked.

Mórrígan nodded. "You must choose a side. Will you formally declare your allegiance to the Phantom Queen, or will you stand with her enemies?"

Ginny licked her lips nervously. "I don't understand. You bring me to the world of the dead and then tell me to decide whether or not to support you? If I say no, are you going to leave me here?"

The goddess was irritated. "Don't be melodramatic."

"It's a legitimate question."

Mórrígan shook her head. "The decision is yours, and you must make it freely or it is nonbinding. There is only one way for me to prove it to you; go back to your own world, Virginia. Give me your answer tomorrow."

Ginny's head was spinning. "I'm bleeding to death."

The goddess arched a perfect eyebrow. "You just spent considerable energy insisting that you were still alive."

"I exaggerated."

"You are a provoking mortal," Mórrígan said, but Ginny heard a note of grudging admiration in her voice. "Go back to your body. The Mediwitch will heal you."

*****

Ginny woke. She tried to sit up, but a fit of coughing stopped her. Her throat felt like someone had rubbed it with sandpaper. "Thirsty," she croaked, tears squeezing from her tightly closed eyes. Someone lifted a glass to her lips. She took a sip, and then coughed again.

"I know it's bitter," said Madam Pomfrey's soft voice, "but it will help you feel better. Drink it all."

Through superhuman effort, Ginny dragged her eyes open. Her vision was watery and unfocused, but she saw enough blurry shapes with red hair to know she was surrounded by her family, and tried to conjure up a weak smile for their benefit. It wound up looking more like a grimace.

Bill stepped forward and cleared his throat. "I still have your sword, Ginny. What should I do with it?"

Ginny didn't care. Her entire focus was on the driving pain in her head.

Once it became evident that Ginny wasn't going to answer, Mrs. Weasley said, "Leave it under her bed, Bill. It will be out of the way there. She'll know where to find it once she's better."

Ginny heard a note of desperate hope in her mother's voice, and it was echoed when Mike chimed in, "So she's going to get better?"

Cool, soft hands took gentle hold of Ginny's wrist, pressing lightly on her pulse. Madam Pomfrey announced, "I see no reason why she shouldn't make a full recovery."

She heard Harry gasp, "Thank the goddess."

No one else heard him over her brothers' relieved laughter and Mrs. Weasley's effusive, "Thank you, Poppy. Thank you for saving my baby girl."

"Mum –" Ginny rasped.

She felt her mother's plump, warm arms circle her. "I was never so afraid in my life as when I saw the Killing Curse coming straight at you."

"Me neither," Ginny confessed, blinking her eyes to focus them. "Mum –"

She heard her mother sniffle, and felt hot, treacherous tears spring to her own eyes. She closed them and willed them not to spill over, with moderate success. Her mother was in no shape to answer the question, so she went to another, less emotional source. "Draco, where's my dad?"

Draco, occupied with being no less grateful than Harry for Ginny's positive prognosis, was caught off guard at being directly addressed. "Um…."

Ron stepped in. "He wasn't with the others in the Malfoy dungeon. But don't worry; the best Aurors have been assigned to the case."

Ginny's heart plummeted. "Tom said he's dead."

"And we all know how reliable and honest _he_ was," Harry said, squeezing her hand. "We'll find your dad; I promise."

"You should stay overnight for observation," Madam Pomfrey said, "just to make sure there are no complications."

"If she stays, I'm staying too," Draco announced.

"_Both_ of us will sleep here," Harry said, almost before Draco had finished his sentence.

"I meant all three of you," Madam Pomfrey clarified. "You were all hit with a Killing Curse this evening, some more directly than others, and I want to make sure none of you suffer any serious side effects."

"Have you seen Blaise Zabini?" Draco asked her. "Did you triage him to the hospital wing? Is he here?"

"Don't worry," Madam Pomfrey said. "I will ask the Headmaster to keep everyone out until the morning. You won't be bothered."

"No," Draco protested, "it's not a bother. I _want_ to talk to him. I mean, I _have_ to. It's important. Do you know if he's all right?"

"Whatever you have to say can wait until morning," Madame Pomfrey declared.

"It really can't."

"As your medical caregiver, I'm telling you it _will_ wait until tomorrow. You have been through a terrible ordeal this evening, and you must rest."

He opened his mouth to protest again, but Ron spoke first. "Just shut up, Malfoy. Your Death Eater friends will still be there when you wake up, ready and eager to hear your newest plot against Ginny."

Draco rounded on him, a terrible expression on his face. "I have _never_ plotted against Ginny," he hissed through clenched teeth, "and if you _dare_ claim that I have –"

Ron's wand was already in his hand. "I think I just did."

Draco reached for his own wand, and found his robe pocket empty. "Where –"

"Looking for this?" Fred asked, twirling the stolen wand.

"Considering your delinquent behavior when you were at school, I shouldn't be surprised you turned out to be a thief," Draco said in an ugly tone.

"As far as I can see," Percy said calmly, "there's only one criminal in this room, and he isn't a Weasley."

Draco looked around him. Except for Ginny's mother, every Weasley was glaring at him, disgust in their eyes. He lifted his chin, looked down his nose, and fixed them all with a disdainful sneer, aware to his toes that he looked just like his father, but it couldn't be helped. Someone needed to put these peasants in their place.

"Quiet, everyone," Madam Pomfrey ordered in a loud whisper. "You don't want to wake her."

Draco glanced down at Ginny, pretending to dismiss her family from his mind.

Harry, who hadn't paid the slightest attention to the brief argument between Draco and the Weasleys, perched on the edge of Ginny's mattress. "Did you drug her?"

Madam Pomfrey stood with a small, satisfied smile. "It's a natural sleep. After what she's been through, she must be exhausted." When Harry nodded his understanding and reached out to brush a wisp of hair from Ginny's forehead, the Mediwitch snatched his wand from his other hand. "I'll hold this until tomorrow," she declared, and took Draco's wand from Fred. "You both may have them back when you wake up. I will not risk a brawl in the middle of the night. And as for everyone else," she said to the crowd, "you may see Miss Weasley in the morning."

"But –" Mrs. Weasley began.

"Molly," Madam Pomfrey said gently, "I know you're worried about her. But the best thing to do now is take care of yourself. Go to Hermione's rooms and get a good night's sleep."

Mrs. Weasley nodded reluctantly.

"I have many more patients to see," Madam Pomfrey continued with a pointed look.

Reluctantly, Ginny's family left. Each brother pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead as he filed past her bed. Just before he reached the door, Mike turned back and, eyes fixed on Draco, said, "Potter?"

"I know," Harry acknowledged. "I'll take care of it."

"Is this some kind of Gryffindor code?" Draco mocked.

"I'm a Ravenclaw," Mike snapped.

Harry spoke over him, "Fletcher doesn't trust you to spend an entire night in the same room as Ginny without trying to kidnap her, and neither do I." He tone was matter-of-fact, his expression determined.

Draco blinked, truly caught off guard. "_Kidnap_ her?"

"You've done it before," Harry pointed out. "She was your prisoner for weeks."

He laughed. "Not because I kidnapped her, Potter. As if I _could_. She appeared at the Manor as a gift from the Mórrígan, and was only my prisoner there for a few days. After we left, Ginny stayed with me of her own free will. She was every inch a willing participant." He finished with a lascivious drawl, "And I _do_ mean that exactly the way it sounds."

Harry gaped. "You expect me to believe –"

"You filthy liar!" Mike shouted at the same time, a furious blush staining his cheeks.

Draco shrugged. "I don't expect you to believe me. I'm a lying, thieving, murdering Death Eater, after all. When she wakes up, though, she'll tell you the same thing I did." He gave a wide, affected yawn. "Sorry to disappoint you both, but I'm too tired to kidnap and pillage this evening. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey could put a locking spell on the door? If we don't have wands, _neither_ of us can run off with her in the middle of the night."

"If this is what it will take," Madam Pomfrey said wearily.

Both protectors nodded.

The Mediwitch drew her wand. "I'll unlock it when I make my morning rounds."

Mike glanced once more at Ginny, sending her an encouraging smile, even though she couldn't see it. Then he slipped through the door, and Madam Pomfrey followed him. Draco and Harry heard her mutter something, and the door rattled on its hinges, then stilled. The three of them were locked in for the night.

*****

Harry didn't know how he was supposed to sleep. He kept turning Draco's words over in his mind – _and I mean that exactly the way it sounds_ – wondering what could've happened during those missing two weeks. What had he and Ginny been doing while Harry waited at Mike's for news? Ginny had said that they were going to Avalon to get her sword; they had obviously found it. He made up his mind that the rest was just venomous embellishment on Malfoy's part. After all, hadn't she told him how much she loved him before they'd gone to Privet Drive? She'd done it because she'd thought she was going to die, he realized now, and shivered at how close he'd come to losing her.

Ginny was just a few feet away, curled up on a twin bed identical to his own. Harry was so thankful to have her home, so profoundly grateful that Voldemort hadn't taken her from him, that he could almost ignore his enemy's presence in the room. Almost. Harry had pretended to drop off right away, the better to observe Malfoy without him knowing. Through barely cracked eyelids, Harry had watched Draco pace the room, glowering at the beds. After more than an hour, Malfoy had given up and thrown himself into an armchair with a disgusted sound. He'd sat there ever since, unmoving, a sulky look on his face.

*****

Ginny made a sleepy noise. She stirred a bit, and then pushed herself up, dangling her legs off the edge of the bed. "Harry?" she croaked.

"He's asleep," Draco whispered. "Stupid wanker dropped off like he doesn't have a care in the world."

"Don't talk about him like that," Ginny whispered back. "Where are we?"

"Hospital wing at Hogwarts."

"It's so _quiet_ in here." Ginny glanced at Harry's bed and bit her bottom lip, then rested her hand on the headboard to steady herself while she stood.

"Sit down," Draco ordered. "You shouldn't be walking around."

"Stop telling me what to do," Ginny snapped, "and keep your voice down."

She crossed to the door on unsteady knees.

"It won't open until morning," Draco told her. "You're stuck with me for the next few hours, at least."

"I'm thirsty."

"Madam Pomfrey left a beaker of the purple stuff you drank earlier."

Ginny made a face, remembering the bitter taste. "Not that thirsty. Is there any water?"

Draco spread his hands. "Do you see any?"

"No."

"Then probably not."

"Do you have to be so unpleasant?"

"Do you really love him?" he asked, his tone dark.

Her knees buckled and he was out of his chair and across the room in two quick strides, bracing her on her feet, keeping her from crumpling to the floor. "Are you all right?" he murmured, his mouth very close to her ear.

"Do I really love whom?" she asked, taking a deep breath. Through her robes, Draco felt her heart racing.

"The boy-who-lived," he said, jerking his head in the direction of Harry's bed.

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Indulge me."

"He's not a boy," Ginny said softly. "You can let go of me now. I have my balance back."

He slowly lowered his arms. "So, do you?"

Ginny looked at Harry in the far hospital bed, and then back up at Draco. Her face was shadowed, barely visible in the sliver of cold moonlight that slipped in through the drawn curtains. All he could clearly make out were her dark eyes, searching his face intently. For the first time, it dawned on him that without her powers she couldn't see his thoughts, and had no sense at all of his feelings. She was lost, with no compass to guide her.

"Yes, I do," she answered.

He asked, "Now that you're home, are you going to be with him?"

There was a small note of uncertainty in her voice when she said, "I hope so."

He seized on the doubt and insecurity he saw in her eyes, and knew it boded well for his plan. His eyes glinted in the faint light, and he enclosed her right hand in both of his and gently lifted it. The locator talismans had a dull silver sheen. In a low, silky voice, he asked, "Even though you're wearing another man's ring?"

She stiffened and tried to pull her hand back, but he wouldn't let go. "These are locator talismans, not symbols of an undying relationship," she said.

"I beg to differ," he replied, pleased to see he was throwing her off-balance.

"I'm not wearing it because I volunteered," Ginny objected. "It's useless now anyway, since I opened the link again. You might as well take it off."

Draco held her hand a moment more. "No," he finally said, "I don't believe I will."

Ginny's irritated, "Malfoy!" sounded more like a curse than an address. Almost immediately, though, she lowered her head and said softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you." She was silent a moment; he could almost hear the gears turning in her head. He hadn't yet rolled his sleeves down, and before he could ask her what had brought on such an abrupt apology, she wriggled out of his grasp, caught his wrist, and pulled it up.

"What are you doing?" he asked, not impatient, just curious.

She gently touched the Dark Mark with the tips of her fingers, a butterfly caress. It was rough, like a scab, and slightly raised from the smooth skin surrounding it. She knew full well he was trying to make her unsure of her feelings for Harry – he hadn't been very subtle about it – and a counter-plan flashed through her mind. The only way to best him, she knew, was to sink to his own manipulative level.

Draco cocked his head and waited for an explanation that was not forthcoming. "The Dark Lord is dead. It'll never burn again," he finally offered.

"Is that how it was put on? Fire?"

"Magic."

She nodded. Her fingers rubbed the Mark a few more times before she finally raised her eyes to his. "I could get rid of it for you."

He smiled wryly. "I'd believe it if you'd said so yesterday. But now? You're nothing but a Squib."

"I know, but you're feeding the link between us. I could use _your_ powers, if you'd let me."

"Ginny –"

Her voice was earnest. "Let me erase it, Draco."

He licked his lips nervously, wishing she hadn't put him on the spot like this. If he flat-out refused…. "We can talk about it later."

"No, now." she whispered. "May I get rid of it?"

Her sudden intensity made him suspicious. "What are you _really_ trying to do?"

Her eyes were wide and dark; he found her absolutely unreadable. "I'm trying to help you," she insisted. "That's all I want."

"Let me make sure I understand this properly. To get rid of something that's never even going to pain me again, you're asking me to let you pull magic right out of my body? You'd kill me."

"I would not. And the Mark will hurt you as long as you wear it. The most effective tortures aren't physical," Ginny replied, reaching through the open link and grabbing onto Draco's power with all the mental strength she possessed.

He drew back with a hiss of surprise, but she didn't release his arm. His harsh whisper echoed in the corners of the room, "That hurts!"

"I didn't say it wouldn't hurt you," she retorted. "Only that it wouldn't kill you."

His eyes narrowed. "What's your game, Ginny?"

She stood so near to him, their clothes brushed. Draco felt like the fabric might as well be an extension of his skin, sensitized and heated by her nearness. She lowered her eyes, and her lashes fanned over her cheeks in cinnamon crescents. He heard her low, slightly scratchy voice. "I don't have a game. I just want to help you. It's all I've wanted since this whole mess started."

"Liar."

"You saved my life today by taking on part of that Killing Curse. I want to help you in return. You _must_ be able to understand that, at least."

His thoughts were tied in a tangled knot. He'd never been a clear thinker where red haired women were concerned, and from their first confrontation he'd found this particular woman, with her smoky voice and strange, intoxicating hold over him, even more mesmerizing than the others. "If you really wanted to help me," he said, "you would've just taken it off without asking and saved me from expecting the pain. It would all be over by now."

Ginny's palm hovered just above the Mark. "That's impossible. I can't do it without your permission. Will you give it?"

"We can do this another time. It doesn't have to be this minute."

Her expression didn't change. "There is no other time. It has to be tonight."

He arched an eyebrow and asked cynically, "Why? Because you say so? So much for altruism."

"Because," she explained, "if you don't let me do it now, why would you agree later?"

"I've had this Mark since I was sixteen," Draco protested. "Having it removed…it's a big step, Ginny. I need time to think about it."

"You need time to collude with your faction, you mean," she countered, "and have Blaise help you decide on the most strategic course of action. Either you give me permission right now, so I know it's completely your choice, or it doesn't happen at all."

He felt fine sheen of sweat break out on his forehead as the rational part of his brain shouted that she'd trapped him between a rock and a hard place. He looked at her small hand, so close to his arm he could feel the heat from her skin, and at her intense, dark gaze now fixed on his eyes. Panicked, he wondered what his faction would do if he agreed, and what she would do if he didn't. He squeezed his eyes shut and made a snap decision. "Fine. Whatever you want. But get it over quickly."

Her palm clapped down over his arm; a swath of magic ripped from his body and tore through the link. The pain was too intense for him even to cry out; the loudest scream still wouldn't be enough to express the burning agony of the great rift in the fabric of his power. He stumbled to the nearest bed, shudders wracking his body. "What…what…."

She lifted his left arm and inspected it clinically, then crouched down so she could look in his eyes. Her smile was gentle. "You're as good as new, Draco. Well done."

"Goddess, that hurt," he managed to gasp.

She tilted her head. "More than the Killing Curse?"

Draco had to think about that. "No," he finally decided. "But just barely. You are never, _ever_ to use my magic for anything again. You'll just have to wait for your own to come back."

"Fair enough," Ginny said. "Will you be all right?"

He turned his face into the pillow and nodded, wondering with the shredded rational part of his mind, the one small corner of his brain that stayed unaffected by her, what the hell he'd just done. Ginny stood, but before she could move away, he caught her hand. He didn't pull, he just held it, anchoring her to his side. She stood there a moment, and then squeezed gently. He squeezed back and released her. By the time she reached her own bed, he was asleep.

*****

When Draco cracked his eyes open again, it was day and the other beds were empty. Potter was wandering around barefoot, and not making any particular effort to be quiet. The door was ajar, and someone had pulled the curtains back. The sunshine in the small room seemed to mock him. His head pounded with the kind of nauseating throb he'd known only once before, after a night of obnoxiously hard drinking. He filed this information away: a Killing Curse and a Dark Mark removal were more painful the next morning than even the most awful hangover. Then he groaned and pulled the pillow over his face. Listen to him! Was Ginny rotting his mind?

He heard the squeak of Potter sitting down on one of the beds, and figured he was putting on his shoes. "Some people are trying to sleep," Draco announced from beneath the pillow.

Potter's only answer was a curt, "Oh."

Draco heard him filling the washbasin by the door with water left by some helpful house elf. When he finished, he set the pitcher on the floor with a loud thump. "Can't you do that somewhere else?" Draco asked.

"No." Soft splashes followed; Potter was washing his face.

"You're the floor all wet."

No answer.

"Where's Ginny?"

No answer.

Draco gingerly sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Well?"

Potter didn't pause his morning ablutions.

"She left and you didn't ask where she was _going_?" Obviously not, if Potter's lack of response was any indication. Draco sighed. "That's part of being a protector of the Pendragon, you know."

"I'm afraid I don't," Potter said through clenched teeth. He turned, a clear warning in his eyes. "Explain it to me."

Seeing the look on Potter's face – the man was obviously spoiling for a fight – Draco knew that if he had any sense of self-preservation, he should drop this line of conversation. He kept talking. "How can you possibly protect her if you let her wander off to goddess knows where, without even asking where she's going or…_you should've been watching her_!"

"I'm not her keeper."

Draco stood. "Yes you are. She's a Squib; she's practically defenseless."

"If she could survive without magic for an entire month as Agent Jezebel, I doubt one morning on her own will be too much for her."

Draco blinked. He hadn't known that. Still, he continued, "I know it's important for you to primp for your admiring public, considering you killed the Dark Lord last night, but you have other responsibilities to –"

"You're going to lecture me on how to do my job? _You_? You only linked with her two weeks ago; I've been doing this for _six years_!"

"Then I shouldn't have to tell you to keep track of her," – Draco paused, a sadistic glint in his eye – "but if you're deliberately avoiding her..."

"Don't be stupid," Harry snarled. "I've no reason to avoid her."

"Unless you're remembering what I said last night," Draco drawled. "About Ginny and me, I mean. Tell me, Potter, does she scratch her nails down your back too? And bite your –"

Potter's left fist collided with Draco's right eye, putting a decisive end to the conversation. Draco grunted and swung back, a weak blow that the Auror easily blocked. Draco had just enough time to see another fist coming at him before it connected with his nose, crunching the cartilage.

"Oh!" a man exclaimed in surprise. Through the eye that wasn't swelling shut, Draco saw one of the older Weasleys – the man he and Delia had pulled from the rubble at Ginny's parents' house – standing in the doorway. "What's going on?"

Harry froze; his face hardened. He turned and said, "I was just leaving for the Burrow and Malfoy…" he glanced over at Draco, "Malfoy was just getting his nose broken."

Draco knew that he was bleeding like a stuck pig; if his shirt hadn't been ruined by the battle the day before, it was certainly beyond repair now. He kept his gaze straight ahead, because if he looked down and saw himself covered with blood, he knew he'd vomit, or faint, or something equally humiliating. The Weasley stared. Could this possibly get any worse?

"Draco?" someone asked. Draco closed his eyes and groaned. Apparently it could. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were also crowding the doorway and gaping at him.

"I'm hung over," he explained, knowing it was no excuse.

"You are not," Potter said with loathing.

"I'm the equivalent, anyway," Draco directed to Pansy and Blaise, "and if I weren't, he'd look just as bad."

"I'm leaving," Potter announced, disgusted. "Bill, tell Ron I'll let him know if we find any signatures."

Draco missed the Weasley's reply over Pansy's order, "Don't just stand there! Tip your head back! Sit down!" She pulled up the bedsheet and wadded it against his nose. "Hold this in place while I find a Mediwitch."

"Tell Madam Pomfrey to bring my wand!" Draco called after her.

Pansy rushed off, and through his good eye Draco looked from Blaise to the Weasley and back again. Blaise took the hint and asked the Weasley ungraciously, "What do you want?"

"I'm looking for my sister."

"She's obviously not here," Blaise said.

"I can see that for myself, thank you," the Weasley snapped. "I want to know where she is, Malfoy."

Draco gingerly felt his way through the link. "She's in Hogsmeade."

"Where in Hogsmeade?"

"I can't tell you what I don't know," Draco said. With his nose pinched closed, he sounded like he had a head cold.

"Then guess."

Draco thought for a moment. "Is the castle a circus today?"

"Of course," Blaise said. "She and Potter killed the Dark Lord in front of the hundreds of people, _and_ the general public knows she's the Pendragon. _Everyone_ is looking for her."

"Then she's probably gone to a pub," he decided. "If there's a situation that Ginny would rather not face, chances are she's drowning it in firewhisky."

Her brother frowned. "It's only noon."

"So?"

When the Weasley hesitated, Draco sneered, "She may be your little sister, but I know her a lot better than you ever will."

Just then, Pansy bustled back in, Madam Pomfrey in tow. "Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy," the Mediwitch pronounced, looking at Draco's swollen eye and bloody shirt. "A broken nose is fixed in five minutes."

When Draco looked back to the door, the Weasley was gone.

*****

"Look at this place, will you?" Mike said, surveying the wrecked bedroom.

"Tact, Mike," Gwen admonished.

"No," Ria said. "It's all right. I know most of it's ruined."

"Do you have homeowners insurance?" Esme asked. "If so, it shouldn't be too expensive to replace most of the things the Death Eaters destroyed."

Ria nodded. "Yeah, but it's for things like fires and floods, you know, natural disasters. I don't know if dark magic attacks are covered."

"I could take a look at your policy, if you'd like," Esme offered.

Ria bit her lip. "Maybe we should come back another time. Ginny's still at the castle; she probably needs us. This stuff isn't going anywhere."

"Neither is Ginny," Esme countered. "I don't even know if I could look at her right now. How could she have kept a secret like this from us for so long? We were supposed to be her friends."

"We _are_," Mike said sharply. "Don't talk about Ginny that way when she isn't here to defend herself."

Gwen squeezed Esme's hand. "It'll be all right," Gwen said. "She probably wants to be alone now, anyway. We'll find her when we get back, after we've all had a chance to calm down." Gwen turned to Mike and Ria and offered, "Why don't Esme and I take the ground floor, and you two can work up here? We'll put everything to rights as best as we can, and make a list of things that need replacing."

Ria nodded. "Thanks."

Gwen flashed Ria a quick, sunny grin. "What are friends for?"

After they'd disappeared down the stairs, Ria closed the bedroom door almost all the way and turned to Mike. "Tell me you didn't know about Ginny being the Pendragon," she demanded.

"Potter told me a few days ago," Mike said, "when he was hiding at my flat." 

"You didn't know before?"

"No, she never told me," he said, folding Ria into a comforting hug. "It's nothing to do with her not trusting you; she couldn't tell _anyone_. Potter said that Dumbledore wouldn't let her."

"And she would've told us if Dumbledore had said she could?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, I don't think she would've. She wanted to keep us safe, Ria. The information was too dangerous for her to share. Ginny would've died before putting us in danger; you know that."

Ria rested her cheek against his chest and sighed. "I know she must have thought it was the right thing to do, but I can't help feeling betrayed."

Mike tightened his embrace. "Yeah, I know."

*****

The air was stained with the acrid scent from decades of sweat and tobacco smoke. Sunlight streaked through the dirty windows in dull yellow bars, not reaching more than two or three feet into the Hog's Head pub. The rest of the dingy room was in semidarkness, lit only by the half-hearted, anemic glow of the occasional candle. Bill spotted a red cinder, the lit end of a cigarette, in a booth in the back. The booth's occupant was mostly hidden by the lank brown leaves of a spindly potted tree that had obviously seen better days, but he could see enough to recognize Ginny.

An ear-piercing voice shattered the gloomy silence. "Let me take your order," said the warty hag behind the bar in a voice that could cut glass. Her hair stood out from her scalp in iron-gray wires and, humpbacked, she was barely taller than Bill's elbow.

"Nothing," he said, thinking he hadn't been in a pub this foul since he'd finished his apprenticeship in curse breaking.

"Can't stay if you don't pay," she sniffed.

"Pumpkin juice, then," he said. "I'll take it at that table in the back, please."

"You're wasting your time, dearie. That girl's not in the mood for a man, even a tall, handsome one like yourself. You'd have a much better chance with me," the hag cackled with a definite leer, grabbing his wrist.

Bill didn't try to hide his revulsion as he jerked out of her claw-like grasp. "The table in the back," he repeated.

The hag scowled. "She won't want your pumpkin juice. Been here since morning, she has, swilling firewhisky. You could do far better than the likes of her."

"She's my little sister," he said coldly, turning away.

Ginny only glanced at him when he slid onto the bench across from her, and then her eyes drifted back down to her glass. She stared into her drink, tracing a knothole in the table with one hand, and taking drags on her cigarette with the other.

He moved the whisky bottle out of the way so he could see her face and said, "I didn't know you smoke."

"Surprise," she said dryly.

"How are you feeling?"

She sighed. "Like my body is one big bruise. And my head aches. I could give you a list of complaints, if you really want to know."

Bill waited until the hag had delivered his juice and returned to the front of the pub before saying anything else. "What are you doing here?"

She swirled the amber liquid around the heavy bottom of her glass. "What does it look like?"

"It's only two!"

"Is it two already?"

Her fingers dancing around the knothole were beginning to irritate him, but he reminded himself to be patient. "This isn't a place for a girl like you."

Her laugh was scratchy with smoke. "No?"

"You're not going to solve anything with firewhisky."

She drained the last of her glass. "Who says I want to? It makes me feel better, at least."

"Are you happier than you were when you woke up, then?" he asked, already knowing the answer was no.

"My hair is _gray_," Ginny cried, tugging on a lock that fell over her shoulder. "I look like that hag over there."

"It's not _entirely_ gray," Bill said, hiding a smile. "And I'm sure no one will mistake you for a hag. You still have _some_ red. Maybe Gwen can dye the rest."

"It isn't fair. I shouldn't have to worry about hair dye for another eighty years."

"Your body and mind were was under so much stress last night, it's only natural that it would've had consequences. You're lucky to get off with only one serious side-effect."

"Two."

"Sorry?"

"_Two_ effects," she corrected. "I have a scar on my back. I found it this morning in the shower."

His eyebrows shot up. "Really? What's it look like?"

She splashed some more whisky into her glass. "Like Harry's."

"You can't possibly be drinking because of your hair. What's wrong?"

"Let Draco Malfoy bleed into _your_ soul and then let me know how _you_ deal with it," she snapped. "He's toxic."

"It must be awful," Bill acknowledged. "But really, Ginny. Sitting by yourself in this disgusting pub…have you even _seen_ mum yet today?"

"You're not my father."

Bill's jaw tightened. "No, but you might think of him while you're here wasting time."

Her shoulders stiffened. "Oh?" she said, somehow managing to pack that one syllable with a wealth of menace. "What do you think I should do instead?"

He frowned. She was not acting remotely like herself. "Ginny, this is _me_," he said, trying to catch her eye. Still, her gaze stayed locked on her whisky. "I only want what's best for you. You've been through so much in the past few days. Come back up to the castle and be with the rest of the family. Dumbledore is spearheading a rescue operation for dad and would welcome your help, I'm sure, and –"

"No he wouldn't," she interrupted. "I'm useless now; I'm not good for anything. I'm a _Squib_, Bill!"

"Well, yes, but only temporarily –"

She talked right over him. "I have _no magic at all_. I can't see; I can't hear; I can't feel a thing. Everything is so dark and quiet…. How do you bear the silence? How did _I_ ever… It's been so long, I can't remember anymore."

He had no idea what she was talking about, but pressed on nonetheless. "What about mum, then? And the others? They were captured by You-Know-Who, Ginny. They've suffered an awful ordeal, and they need our support."

"Harry killed him. There's no reason you can't say his name."

"The point is, we love you, and we need you. Come back with me."

"Back to the castle? Are you insane?" she choked, her voice breaking. She was beginning to sound slightly hysterical as she demanded, "Do you have any idea how many people are there right now? They're all going to want to talk to me, and take pictures of me…I've seen it with Harry. I can't do it, Bill. I _can't_ have all of them looking at me and following me and talking about me as soon as I leave the room…."

"You're never going to be anonymous again. That life isn't yours anymore. Hiding here won't change that, and neither will getting angry with me. A Gryffindor wouldn't shirk her responsibilities. You're the _Pendragon_, Ginny."

"So what if I am?" she muttered. "Aren't I still fed from the same food, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means as everyone else?"

If his sister was paraphrasing Shakespeare, she wasn't as far gone as he'd thought. The old Ginny was still there, somewhere.

She continued, "If you prick me, do I not bleed?"

Bill grinned. "Well, yes, but it's the wrong color."

A burst of laughter tore from her lips. It was too loud and had a desperate, drunken edge, but it was something, at least. It was hope, and Bill clung to it.

"Very true," she finally said. "It's the wrong color. And now everyone knows it. That's why I'm not going back to Hogwarts with you."

"You'll have to sometime."

"But that time is not right now."

She reached for the bottle again, but he grabbed its neck and pulled it out of her reach, placing a folded parchment in front of her with the other hand. "All right. Here's a list of things mum wants from the Burrow, assuming they survived the cave-in. If you get them for her, it'll buy you a few more hours before you have to go back to the school."

"You go. I can't Apparate."

"You can use the Floo network. Harry went there awhile ago with some other Aurors to collect evidence. He said something about signatures?"

"Magical signatures," she explained dully. "Every person's magic leaves a unique signature behind, like a fingerprint. A few years ago the Auror Division figured out how to read the signatures and match them to the wizards who cast the spells."

"Anyway, they'll have finished by now. You'll have the run of the house."

Ginny slumped down on her side of the booth. Bill set a small jar of Floo powder on the table in front of her, and laid a flat silver flask beside it. "I'll take care of your bill." He stood, and squeezed her shoulder. "I love you, sweetheart," he said before he walked away.

She picked up the flask and gingerly unscrewed the top. The strong, bitter stench of sobriety potion stung her nostrils. Ginny sighed, held her nose, and took a deep swallow.

*****

The house was silent. Ginny stood in front of the fireplace in the kitchen and looked around, taking in the soot-streaked walls, ransacked cupboards, and splintered furniture. Had she really been here only yesterday? The Aurors had made a valiant effort to clean things up; the unbroken chairs had been righted, and her mother's cookbooks – the ones that hadn't been burned or torn to shreds, at least – were back on the shelves. The old family clock stood tall in its corner, its glass shattered. A few jagged shards still clung to the face, reflecting Ginny's eyes back at her as she studied it. Her brothers' and mum's hands were on School; hers pointed to Home. She reached up, carefully avoiding the broken glass, and gently nudged her clock hand aside, uncovering her father's beneath. Ginny frowned. "Home?" she whispered. "Dad, where _are_ you?"

She turned slowly, half expecting him to be standing behind her, or sitting at the table, as she had seen him thousands of times before, but she was alone. She unfolded the stiff parchment Bill had left on her table. First on her mum's list: the family photo album. Ginny started for the den, moving slowly and as quietly as she could, although she didn't know why. It was her family's house, after all, and she was ostensibly the only one in it; there was no need to sneak. All the same, she felt very odd, like there was still danger lurking in the air.

There was a deep gouge in the wall, and she remembered that this was where Delia had found Tom's note, stabbed to the wall with a Death Eater's dagger. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up and gooseflesh raced up her arms. He had been there, in that very room. He had stood where she was standing right now, and had written her a letter, demanding she surrender herself or face the consequences. Ginny looked ruefully down at her hands. There certainly had been consequences – a worthless Squib for a Pendragon; no doubt Badb was thrilled – but Tom had received the worst of it. She straightened her shoulders a bit; she might be powerless, but she was alive. She had won that battle, at least. _Delayed victory_, Draco's tarot cards had promised her. Well now she had it. It tasted almost as bitter as defeat, but it was better than nothing.

The photo album was still in its place in her mother's keepsake chest. The pages were intact and, flipping through, Ginny could spot no photos out of place. The next few items on her mother's list were various sets of robes and hats. They would be harder to salvage; her parents' room had been blown to pieces in the attack. Ginny tucked the photos under her arm and started for the stairs.

She was halfway up when she heard the squeak of floorboards above her head. She froze, clutching the album to her chest with white-knuckled fists. She wasn't alone; someone was in her old room. Her first thought was of the clock downstairs – had her dad found his way home? – but then she remembered her nervousness in the den. Was it more than just Tom's residual aura? Was she sensing danger? Should she make a run for the fireplace and go back to Hogwarts? As soon as she had that idea, she dismissed it. If it _was_ her dad then she couldn't very well run away from him. He might be frightened, or hurt. And if it was a dark wizard, magic wasn't necessary to thrash someone. She set the album down and silently crept up to the landing, remembering to step over the creaky stair at the top.

Her bedroom door was slightly ajar, and Ginny heard the rustle of papers within. A dark wizard surely wouldn't read her books, would he? But, then, neither would her father. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing herself to be calm, and then swung the door open and stepped inside.

"Ginny!"

"Harry?"

He was sitting on the floor beside her bed, a small wooden box open on the floor next to him. The rug all around him was strewn with papers, and he clutched a few more in his hand.

He explained, "I stayed behind to look for more evidence."

Her expression went blank. "Under my bed?" she asked in a deceptively mild tone.

"Well…" He looked at the papers scattered around him. "Yes. I mean, I looked under other beds too. Not just yours. And in wardrobes and trunks and anyplace something may have landed."

"And did you stop to read everyone else's personal letters?" she demanded.

Harry's eyes flashed, and he raised his chin defiantly when he answered, "They're all addressed to _me_. When I saw my name at the top, yes, I read them."

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, thinking what he would have seen in those letters. She tried desperately not to cry.

Her silence prompted him to continue, "Gin, why didn't you ever tell me any of this? About how lonely and helpless you were feeling? And how…and how much you loved me? And the other things too. I didn't know any of it! Why didn't you report that you suspected Delia Silvermoon was a Death Eater?"

She protested, "You don't understand."

"What is there to understand? There are letters from as early as your fourth year, and even one from the night of Ron and Hermione's wedding! Why would you have written them, addressed them to me, and then hidden them under your bed?" He looked utterly mystified.

She didn't know what to say. How could she tell him that she had lived her life full almost to madness with joy, and fears, and dreams, and darkness, but the thought of pouring it out to a diary terrified her, and so she had spent sleepless nights writing letters instead; letters to her hero, her idol, the one person she was sure would understand anything she had to say. She couldn't explain; her humiliation was deep enough as it was. "You were never supposed to actually _see_ them."

"They're _addressed_ to me!" he cried. "What do you mean, I was never supposed to see them?"

"Should I have trusted you with them?" she countered. "You've known about Draco since your seventh year, and you never said a word to me."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "No, I didn't. If you had known, you would've linked with him right away, just to spite Dumbledore. You wouldn't have thought about the consequences, about what would have happened if Voldemort had found out about his coup, and how dangerous that would have been for your parents and brothers."

"You think I don't care about my family?" she gasped, stung to the heart.

"I'm not questioning your love for them. I'm saying that, six years ago, you would have acted without thinking things through and put them at risk."

"If you _had_ told me about Draco, I might have been able to prevent Badb coming into this world! This mess is all your fault!"

"No, it's not," Harry insisted. "It's Voldemort's fault for sacrificing to the goddess in the first place, and Lucius Malfoy's fault for thinking he was strong enough to control her. It has nothing to do with me."

"Are you actually trying to _justify_ yourself? I can't believe I'm listening to this."

"I'm not justifying anything," Harry snapped, finally losing patience. "All I'm saying is that you were a terrified, angry child, Ginny. You didn't even trust yourself; can you blame me for not trusting you either?"

"And this is what you think of me!"

"It's what I thought of you then. Now –"

"What about now?" she demanded.

"Malfoy told me about the two of you," he said in a tone laden with accusation.

Ginny's expression was incredulous. "The two of us?"

"How you were…together…while you were at Malfoy Manor."

"He told you _what_?"

"Did you kiss him?"

After a long silence, she finally whispered, "Yes."

"Did you sleep with him?" Harry's face was as blank as hers, but she saw violent emotion seething in his eyes.

"No!"

"Did you want to?"

Ginny thought furiously. How could she answer the question without lying to him?

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Thank you," he said coldly. "This has been an informative conversation." He stood and strode on long legs toward the door.

Ginny grabbed his arm to stop him. "Wait! Don't leave!" she said, but he shook her off.

"There's nothing you can say that I'd want to hear."

As he passed her, she clenched her teeth and launched herself through the air, tackling him to the floor.

"Ow! Are you insane?" he gasped, face pressed to the rug.

She inhaled sharply, every nerve ending in her body screaming in pain at the sudden exertion. "I can explain," she managed to gasp. "Don't you remember _anything_ I said before we went to the Dursleys'? I meant it all!"

"You only said it because you thought you were going to die."

"So? That doesn't mean I was lying. Just because I'm angry with you right now doesn't mean I don't still love you."

"Ginny, let me up. I don't want to hear it; don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"I'll let you up if you promise to listen," she said.

"What if I don't?"

"Then we'll be here for a while."

An unhappy, tired sigh escaped his lips. "Fine."

Ginny scrambled off of his back. "It was the goddess's fault."

"All right," Harry said, jumping to his feet. "I really _am_ going now. Blaming the goddess for your own –"

"No," she cried, grabbing his wrist with both hands. "You promised to stay and listen, and that's what you're going to do." As quickly and concisely as she could, Ginny explained how she had to kiss Draco in the forest to fool the other Death Eaters, Mórrígan's plan to tighten the bonds between Draco and her and how she'd resisted, and then her appeal to Macha for an alternate plan and the resulting trip to Avalon. She finished and looked at Harry, a mute plea in her damp eyes. "In my heart, I was never unfaithful to you. I'll swear it on anything you want. Whatever he told you, it was a twisted version of what really happened."

"What about the things I've seen with my own eyes?" Harry asked, his face unreadable.

"With your…. I'm sorry, I don't understand. What?"

"You and Malfoy are wearing matching rings. I saw it last night, when you both thought I was asleep. Just like wedding rings –"

She thrust her right arm toward him so he could look closer. "It's on the wrong hand for a wedding ring. If you were awake last night long enough to see the rings, then you were awake to hear that it's just a locator talisman, and I'd get rid of it if I could. It's charmed so he's the only one who can take it off, but he won't because he knows it will make you jealous to see me wearing it."

"But why would he –"

"Because he's a _bastard_, Harry. I don't know! He _enjoys_ being horrible, especially to you!"

"Last night, Ginny, you removed his Dark Mark. I watched the whole thing. You _begged_ Malfoy to let you do it, and you said that all you'd ever wanted was to help him. Why would you do that if you don't have some kind of feelings for him?"

"Think about it," she said, scrambling to her feet. "When his faction sees that he let me remove his Mark, they'll suspect that I'm replacing them in his loyalty, that he's not committed to their cause anymore, that he's going to betray them…and without its head, Harry, the snake is nothing but a rope." Her eyes gleamed. "He and his father have been publicly exposed as Death Eaters, so he's lost all his standing with the wizarding world. Any influence he might have had was through his faction, and last night I cut that power off at the knees. They'll turn on him, and without him to hold them together, they'll turn on each other too, one by one. He won't get anywhere, unless it's through you and me. It had nothing to do with _helping_ him. It's just like what he did to Shannon. Poetic justice."

His eyes widened as he realized the truth of her words. "Goddess above," he murmured, shocked at her cool manipulation of the other protector. "You sound just like him."

"I _am_ like him now," she replied softly, "in some ways, at least. But not where it's important. At the core, I'm still the same Ginny you've always known."

Harry shook his head. "You've changed so much in the past two years – the past two _weeks_ – I hardly know what to think of you anymore. I love you so much, Ginny, but I just don't know if I can trust you anymore. Not as long as you have part of him inside of you."

She bit her lip. "I love you too. I love you so much it hurts, and when you find love like this, you don't just let it go. You're what got me through Shannon's death, and everything that followed."

Harry shook his head. "I just – I've hated him for so long –"

"I'm not Malfoy!" she insisted. "I'm _not_! And, for better or worse, we're both stuck with him for the rest of our lives. At least I've set it up so he's dependent on us –"

"And what's to stop you from manipulating me into something next, Ginny?"

She gaped, her mouth open like a fish. "_What_?"

"You've done it to one protector, why wouldn't you do it to the other?"

"Because I _respect_ you, Harry. You're not a Death Eater."

"But I'm an Auror. You hate them too."

"Are you deaf? Haven't you heard a word I've said?"

"I've heard _all_ your words, Ginny, and that's why I don't know what to think. I need some time."

She felt as though she'd been punched in the chest. It was a struggle just to draw breath, but she choked, "All right, fine. Take your time." It was the least she could do after all he'd done for her, but her voice was tight with tears.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and sadly shook his head. The next thing Ginny knew, he'd turned on his heel and left without a word.

*****

"I had to do it," Draco said, holding out his arm for their inspection. "Imagine what she'd have thought of me if I'd said no. What kind of damage would it have done to my relationship with her and to our cause?" He'd decided it would be better to tell his faction himself, rather than let them find out sometime down the line.

"That's all very well for _you_," Neil said. "_We_ still have Dark Marks. I heard that the Aurors are determined to hunt down all former Death Eaters and put them in Azkaban. All you'll have to do is roll up your sleeve to prove –"

"Have you forgotten that I walked into Hogwarts yesterday with my sleeves rolled up? Every student, teacher, and Auror in the castle knows I'm one of you. Even if I don't have a Mark now, I had one yesterday and the whole world saw it." With all his force of mind, he willed them to understand. The eyes looking back at him were wary, but not yet untrusting. That was a small victory.

"Your _relationship_ with her?" Pansy asked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's my plan," Draco said, seizing on the change of subject. "She told me on Avalon that her love for Potter is what's keeping her from joining us. If we can make them hate each other, the barrier will be removed."

"Is it really that simple?" asked Pansy.

"Leave it to me," Draco said.

"Are you sure this isn't a little more personal than that?" Blaise muttered under his breath.

Draco cocked one eyebrow, silently ordering his friend to explain.

Two spots of color appeared on Blaise's cheeks, and he pushed his curls out of his eyes, obviously nervous. He licked his lips and pressed ahead. "Do you have an ulterior motive for volunteering this…course of action? If you do, we deserve to know."

Draco lifted his chin a notch and looked down his nose at Blaise, wrapping himself in the safety of cold, aristocratic aloofness. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Blaise's jaw tightened. "I don't know what happened between you two after you left the Manor, but we all saw the way you looked at her last night, when you thought she was going to die."

"I was concerned with how her death might affect the faction –" Draco began.

"It wasn't _concern_," Blaise snarled, "it was bloody _terror_, and the _faction_ was the furthest thing from your mind." 

Draco's tone was arrogant, "Just say what you want to say, Blaise, because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That's because you're being deliberately obtuse!" Blaise exploded. "Everyone in this room – including you – knows exactly what I'm saying. If you have feelings for her, just admit it now!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Even if I _did_, I have worked too hard, for _far_ too long, to risk it all for a Weasley."

The room was silent as the two men stared each other down. Draco broke eye contact first. His eyes scanned the crowd. "Why isn't Delia here?"

Blaise's shoulders slumped. "She hasn't been seen since last night. We're all worried."

There was another long silence, finally broken by Blaise's question. "What are we going to do next?"

Draco visibly relaxed; he was relieved beyond words that, for now, Blaise had decided to continue trusting him. "I have no idea. I didn't exactly plan on my father getting possessed by a goddess. Give me some time and I'll figure it out."

"I don't know how much time we have," Blaise whispered.

"We have enough," Draco said. "We'll meet again in a few days. Everyone, stay safe and don't make any trouble. Keep a low profile." With those parting orders, he turned and swept from the room in a swirl of navy blue robes.

"Blaise?" Pansy asked quietly.

Blaise pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Draco's never betrayed us before," he told the room. "For the next few days, we'll wait and watch. He or I will contact you when it's time to meet again."

"And after that?" said Neil.

Blaise shook his head. "I don't know."

*****

"You!" a woman shouted. "You there, stop!"

Draco froze. Surely she couldn't be calling to him. He looked up the hall; there was no one else in sight. He slowly turned around, and saw three very odd people rushing toward him. One was a beefy man with the bushiest mustache Draco had ever seen. The second man was younger, and so wide he took up nearly the entire corridor. The woman who had called out looked like the result of an unfortunate mating between a broomstick and a hyena.

"Yes, _you_," she said. "We have a list of grievances. Our room is nothing more than a cupboard! This is unacceptable. Do you have any idea who we are?"

"No," Draco answered. "Should I?"

The woman talked right over him. "We are the Dursley family," she said, as though that should have been obvious, "and not only is our room disgraceful, but this morning at breakfast, they tried to serve my Dudley this…this _brown liquid_…"

"Pumpkin juice?" Draco guessed, realizing these strange people were Potter's relatives.

"Who ever heard of making juice out of _pumpkins_? You people are all mad. And an old man with a long beard spoke very rudely to us when my Dudley took food from a woman's plate. Well, it wasn't as if she were _eating_ it, and my Dudley needs sustenance."

"I'm sure," Draco deadpanned, looking to the whale-like man standing behind her, his fat quivering with his vigorous nods. "And what makes you think _I_ can do anything about it?"

"We saw you yesterday with Harry Potter," the woman said, her voice reminding him of nothing so much as the high-pitched shrieks of a tortured house elf.

"So?" Draco demanded.

"Well, you _were_ standing right next to him last night, with that nasty red-headed woman, Jenny. He'd never help us; he has no gratitude. But if you were to use _your_ influence to get us a better room and some proper food…."

He stood a little taller. "_My_ influence?" he asked, indicating she should elaborate. If even these Muggles had heard about the Malfoys, then perhaps his standing within the wizarding world hadn't been entirely lost.

"Your influence," the woman repeated. "Harry Potter _is_ your people's biggest celebrity, and you're his friend. You could use that to –"

A murderous expression contorted his face, so fierce it stunned the woman into silence. "I am _not_ his friend," Draco said, his voice all the more menacing for its softness, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll leave me alone. I've more important things to do than waste my time helping the Mudblood family of Harry fucking Potter."

The woman sneered. "I don't think you understand –"

Draco drew his wand and said calmly, "If you're not gone by the time I count to ten, I'll remove your ears."

The young one let out a frightened squeal, so high-pitched Draco almost felt embarrassed for him. He waddled away as quickly as his feet could carry him. The mustached man followed, and the woman chased after them on her bony legs.

"Malfoy!" someone shouted behind him.

Draco turned away from the family's departure, only to see another group coming from the other direction. He closed his eyes and groaned at the red-haired phalanx bearing down on him. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley, other Weasleys," he greeted, his tone beleaguered.

"Where's our sister, you son of a –"

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley squawked.

"Tell us where Ginny is," Ron demanded, wand in hand.

"I don't know," Draco said, leashing his impatience. He might despise Ginny's family, but if he wanted her on his side, he couldn't afford to make the rest of the Weasleys hate him any more than they already did. Besides, he was outnumbered.

Ron's ears turned pink, and the tip of his wand twitched. "Have you seen her?"

"Not since last night. Do you always travel in a pack?"

Mrs. Weasley's frown was censorious. "If you find her, tell her that we're waiting for her in Hermione's rooms. We're not in the mood to celebrate, although Harry will have to appear, of course, and if Ginny feels up to it…"

"Celebrate?" Draco asked. "What are you talking about?"

"The festival tonight," Ron supplied, "to celebrate the death of You-Know-Who. Harry killed him, so he'll have –"

"_Ginny_ killed him," Draco said curtly. 

Ron blinked, thrown off track by the interruption. "Well…yeah…I suppose so. But Harry delivered the death blow, so he's the guest of honor. If Ginny doesn't want to go to the festival…"

"I can promise you she won't want to go," Draco drawled, "and I know she won't want to see you for a while either."

"Me?" Ron asked.

"Any of you," Draco said. "She feels responsible for her father being missing, and she's afraid you'll all blame her."

"But that's ridiculous!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed.

"How do you know what she's thinking?" the oldest brother demanded.

Draco recognized him from the hospital wing and gave him a look that plainly said, _You're an idiot_. "I just know. Did you find her in Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah."

"Is she all right? Did she say anything?" he asked. "Anything weird?"

The man looked wary. "She said a lot of weird things. She was drunk."

"Anything I might be interested to hear?"

One of the twins sputtered, "She's none of your business."

"I don't have _any_ business but her," Draco snapped with a quelling glare.

The Weasley took a deep breath. "She said she has a scar on her back –"

"I know; I saw it yesterday."

The Weasley frowned. "She asked me how I could bear the silence. I had no idea what she was talking about, but…" He frowned at the unmistakable look of concern on Malfoy's face. "What? What's the matter?"

"I hadn't thought about that," Draco murmured. "I mean, it's obvious now that you mention it, but I hadn't considered…" His sentence trailed off, and he looked each Weasley in the eye. "Listen. You can't bother her, or push her for anything before she's ready."

Mrs. Weasley glared. "She's my _daughter_. Wanting to know where she is isn't bothering her."

"I know," Draco said, reminding himself to be polite. "But imagine, for a moment, losing your father, your powers, your sight, and your hearing, all in one day."

"She was seeing and hearing just fine at the pub," the oldest Weasley supplied.

"Her _physical_ eyes and ears are fine," Draco said, "but not her Otherworldly ones. She's blind, deaf, half-orphaned, and powerless. Between us, it's a miracle she still has her sanity. She needs to be treated very carefully until her magic comes back."

"She's not half-orphaned. Our dad isn't dead," Ron said coldly.

"If you say so," Draco countered, his tone condescending. "The point is, Ginny's extremely fragile right now, and if she's mishandled at all, she could break. I don't want that any more than you do."

*****

The vague silver nimbus around the goddess's body was the only light in the dungeon room. She sat on the rough wooden bench as regally as if it were a jewel-studded throne. Delia knelt at her feet, neither noticing nor caring that her robes were dirtied by the cold stone floor. Rapturous, she gazed up at Badb's face. Dana leaned against the wall a few feet away, her legs crossed in front of her.

"It was unfortunate, of course," the goddess said, absently trailing her long fingers over Delia's greasy hair, like an owner caressing a favorite animal. "I had planned to take Tom's body, but when it became unavailable, I had to act quickly." She looked down at Lucius's slim white hands and fashionably expensive robes. "The outer trappings are more attractive, I will admit, but this body does not contain nearly as much power as the other."

"You can take another form," Delia said worshipfully. "You're all-powerful."

Badb favored the young woman with an amused look. "Not yet, my pet. I _will_ change form, but I do not have the power I need. First this body must be made as strong as Tom's would have been. You and your sister will help me."

Dana felt like her thoughts were moving through treacle. They inched along so slowly, it was almost more trouble than it was worth to have them. She summoned what little strength she had and asked, "What if I don't –"

A crushing pain exploded behind her eyes, cutting off her words. Sure she was about to be violently ill, Dana crumpled into a ball with a pathetic moan. "What if you don't want to?" the goddess asked. "But, dearest, you don't have a choice. You never did. You and your sister belong to me."

Dana felt her eyes being drawn inexorably to the goddess's. Badb's words were slow and hypnotic, "You can not fight what you are, so it's easier if you don't think about it. Thinking only leads to pain. You will not win this battle; you must see that."

When Dana nodded, the pain vanished completely. She felt like she was floating, and the goddess's eyes were all she could see. "I can't fight you," she whispered. "I'm only fighting myself."

Badb's eyes gleamed, and in them, Dana saw destruction. Her silver power leapt in her body, and she knew with bone-deep assurance that this was what she had been made to do. When the goddess held out her hand, Dana crawled closer and knelt at her other knee. Badb rested a palm on each twin's head, as one bestowing a benediction. "My two perfect knights," she murmured.

"Yes," Delia vaguely.

"What about the Pendragon?" Dana asked, her voice as dreamy as her twin's.

"Ah, the Pendragon," Badb said thoughtfully. "She is helpless, but will not always be so. I must speak with her. If she joins me, my sisters' defeat is assured."

"And if she won't?" Dana said. "She's stubborn and proud."

The goddess bared her teeth in a grotesque imitation of a smile. "Then you two must bring me power," she commanded. "Enough to fill this body and make me a match for her."

"How?" Delia asked.

"You are both predators, are you not?" Badb asked. "An owl and a wolf? Your prey will be human."

Delia licked her lips. "And when we catch them?"

"Bring them to me alive," Badb ordered. "They are no good to us dead. Once I am strong enough to face the Pendragon in battle and win, you two will eliminate her protectors. If she refuses to join us, I will kill her too. The world of mortals will be mine, and Mórrígan will fall."

*****

"What are you doing over here?" Mike asked over the loud music. He had a bottle of Butterbeer in one hand and a noisemaker in the other. The cracking wood in the raging bonfires and joyful revelry of the people on the castle's front lawn nearly drowned out his words. "Everyone is looking for you!"

Harry scowled and walked a few steps deeper into the Forbidden Forest. "Leave me alone."

"Are you serious? The wizarding world is holding a festival in your honor!" Mike said, trailing after him. "You-Know-Who is dead, Potter! You killed him in front of a thousand people! You don't have to sulk and play the tragic hero anymore."

"Go away. You're drunk."

Mike laughed. "Not quite, but I'm so happy I _feel_ drunk. Is it the same thing?" Potter's eyes didn't show even a flicker of interest, and Mike was suddenly sober. "What's wrong, really? Is it something with Ginny?"

"Didn't I ask you go to away?"

"Is she all right? Is there anything I can do to help her? What's the matter?"

"She's turned into a Malfoy clone, that's what's the matter!" he exploded. "He…he bled into her through the link, and now she's just like him! She's turned into this…devious, manipulative _Slytherin_."

Mike frowned. "Oh."

"That's all you can say?" he raged. "Just _oh_? She removed his Dark Mark last night, Fletcher, and she tried to tell me it was because she wanted him to be dependent on her, but it was a lie!"

"A lie?" Mike repeated.

"She said that it wasn't because she cared about him, but I could see that she does. I could see it in her eyes; she wasn't telling me the truth."

"She _doesn't_ care about him, Potter," Mike protested. "She _couldn't_. Not in the way you mean."

"She was _lying_ to me!" he shouted. "He's bled into her so much that she stood right in front of me and told a bald-faced lie. I hate him. I _hate_ him, and I swear that if I ever catch him alone –"

"Stop it. You're making me nervous," Mike interrupted. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you know all along that she was going to have to link minds with him someday?"

"Yes."

"And didn't you know it would mean that some aspects of his personality would bleed into hers?"

He didn't answer.

Mike continued, "Then you have to decide: do you love her more than you hate Malfoy?"

"Don't try to quantify my feelings," Harry snarled. "It's insulting."

"You knew that this would happen sooner or later," Mike said. "Don't hold it against her; she can't help the way she is. Even if she does have some of Malfoy's talent for manipulation, she's still _Ginny_. She can't have changed _that_ much; goddess knows _he_ hasn't."

"You _know_ what kind of person he is," Harry said, disgusted. "He's evil; he's worst kind of dark wizard, and if she actually cares for him, then she's someone I don't even know anymore."

"If he's become a part of her, you can't expect her not to care," Mike pointed out, leaning against a tree.

"You don't know the history Malfoy and I have," he said, sinking to a fallen log and resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his palms.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Please. Everyone in the world knows the history you have. You were rivals at school, and for the last five years, he's been clawing his way up the Death Eater ranks and you've been trying to put him in Azkaban."

"You can't just expect me to forget –"

"No, Potter," Mike said, exasperated, "no one is expecting you to forget anything, but the least you can do is _try_ to understand where Ginny's coming from."

"You sanctimonious little b –"

"Use your head," Mike cut him off. "She's not in _love_ with him. She loves _you_, but if you can't see that, you're going to lose her. And trust me, you will never find another woman like her, and you will regret it for the rest of your life."

Potter's voice was hoarse. "Speaking from experience, Fletcher?"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Does it matter? Go talk to her before it's too late."

Potter opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded and left the copse of trees the same way he did everything else: with a fierce, determined urgency.

*****

Draco found Ginny in the conservatory. It wasn't one of the long, low buildings reserved for students' classes, but was built into an upper floor of the castle. Its curving glass ceiling arched far above his head, elegantly flowing into the tall windowpanes that lined the walls. The air was warm and thick with the heady fragrance of flowers. He had fond memories of this room from his school days; he'd frequently come here to study, or just to be alone with this thoughts.

He snapped several white roses from a trellis near the door and stripped their thorns with silent spells. As he twisted the stems, he kept one eye on his work and the other on her. She sat on a patch of grass near the window, her sword on the ground beside her. The starlight above and the flickering flames of the bonfires below illuminated the deep red of her robe. Her hair, silver-gray streaked with threads of crimson, fell in loose waves about her shoulders. Soft strains of music from the festival below filled the room.

Draco crouched quietly behind her and gently placed his wreath of roses on her head. She turned in surprise, and a gasp of pain escaped her parted lips.

"Oops," Draco said ruefully. "I thought I'd found all the thorns." He touched his wand to her temple and, with a whispered incantation, the spot of silver blood vanished. "Sorry."

"I didn't hear you coming," she said. "It's been a long time since anyone sneaked up on me."

"You look so sad," he murmured, his breath fluttering her hair near her ear. "You're missing the festival."

"The last thing I want to do is be in a crowd," she explained, her voice as soft as his. 

Draco noticed the goosebumps that raced up her arms and was pleased. "You killed the Dark Lord –" he began.

"Thank you. I remember," she interrupted, an irritated spark in her eyes.

"You should be celebrating."

Ginny looked down at the crowd on the castle's lawn. "Not if it means going out there."

"Then celebrate here." He stood and held out his hand. "Dance with me."

Ginny looked up at him, astonished. "Dance? With you?"

"Why not? We can hear the music up here."

"I don't dance with Death Eaters."

"Lucky thing I'm not a Death Eater," Draco said, a genuine smile crinkling the corners of his blue eyes. "Go ahead, check my arm. Not a Dark Mark in sight."

Ginny smiled in spite of herself. "Only because I removed it."

"Only because I _let_ you," he countered, his smile turning into a full-fledged grin. "Stand up. I won't step on your feet; I promise."

She was still for just a moment more, and then she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He rested a hand on her lower back and gently drew her close.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," Ginny said, her words muffled by his robe. "The only reason you asked me to dance is so you could have a chance to charm me."

"You said yes," Draco pointed out.

She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "That's true."

They didn't talk anymore. In the silence, the room's warmth and perfume surrounded and slowly bewitched them. With her body gently entangled with his, Draco felt a deep satisfaction bloom in his chest. He had just leaned his cheek against her hair to better enjoy the scent of the roses when he noticed a slight movement. He lazily raised his eyes and saw that Potter had just walked in the door and stood, frozen, watching the slowly revolving dancers. Draco met Potter's eyes, and then looked back down at Ginny, deciding to ignore him.

Unfortunately for Draco, Potter wouldn't be dismissed. "Ginny," he said, his voice unnaturally calm.

Ginny froze. Draco felt the muscles in her back tense under his palms, and she jumped back as though his robes were on fire. She whirled around to look at the intruder.

Potter asked bitterly, "Was this the goddess's doing too?"

"No," Ginny said, "it's just a misunderstanding. There's no reason to be angry; nothing happened. Let me explain –"

And right in the middle of her sentence, she disappeared in a flash of silver light.

*****

Ginny was so disoriented, she spun in a full circle before realizing she was in the Otherworld. Mórrígan laughed at her. "I told you that you would give me your answer today," the goddess said. "Why the confusion?"

"It was just so sudden," Ginny said, turning toward the goddess's voice. "This is a bad time. What do you…. Oh! _Very_ funny."

Mórrígan ran her fingers through her hair. Despite her youthful face, the locks were gray, threaded with long garnet streaks. A crown of white roses topped her head. "You don't like it?"

Ginny scowled. "No."

Mórrígan smirked. "I wanted to see how it looked."

"And what do you think?"

"It's ugly," the goddess pronounced, "but it suits you."

"If you're only going to make fun of me, send me back," Ginny said impatiently. "I was in the middle of something important."

Mórrígan's mirth vanished without a trace. "You've had a day to consider the ramifications of your decision. I now require your answer."

"I've forgotten the question," Ginny said, just to be difficult.

The goddess was unfazed. "Will you pledge yourself to the Phantom Queen and become her champion, or will you side with her enemies? Consider carefully before you reply, Virginia, because this decision will bind you for the rest of your days."

Ginny's features slowly settled into lines of determined resolve. There was only one right choice; she'd known it since last night. The intervening hours hadn't changed her mind. "Yes, I'll pledge myself to you," she swore, fully aware of the enormity of the promise she was making.

"Then today I will become your general," Mórrígan declared, "and you will truly be my champion. Because you gave me your vow, I will give you one in return. I will protect your people with the same dedication and strength that you will show to mine, and together, we will restore the balance or die trying. I swear this to you, Pendragon." She reached out her hand and used her thumb to trace a rune on Ginny's forehead. "You have promised yourself to me, and I protect what is mine."

"Can you bring my magic back?" Ginny asked.

"No," Mórrígan said. "I have no power to undo what the Universe has done. Time is the only thing that can bring your powers back."

"What about my hair? Can you do anything about it?"

"I can, but I won't. It will be a lesson in humility. Come here, Virginia."

Ginny stepped closer.

"Kneel," Mórrígan ordered.

She did, and closed her eyes, a little nervous about what was coming next.

The goddess drew her sword and gripped the hilt with both hands. She gently rested the tip of the blade over Ginny's chest, and Ginny felt an immense current of heat fill her limbs, starting at the tips of her fingers and toes, converging in her chest and leaping out of her body. She cracked one eye open and saw silver threads of magic flowing from her heart to the sword and back again, weaving an unbreakable chain of power and loyalty. Satisfied, the goddess slowly lowered the weapon, and the light faded. Ginny took her proffered hand and let Mórrígan pull her to her feet.

As Ginny stood, the long sleeve of her robe slipped to her elbow. She gasped at what she saw. A long, crimson dragon wrapped about her left wrist and wound up her forearm. She pulled up the other sleeve and saw an identical dragon on her right arm. "The physical marks of our contract," Mórrígan said.

"_Tattoos_? My mum is going to kill me," Ginny predicted. "The sword on my hip can at least be hidden, but these? She's going to have a heart attack and die, and it'll be your fault."

"These are not ordinary tattoos," the goddess said. "Explain to your mother how you got them, and she will understand."

It finally occurred to Ginny to ask, "How am I here physically? It's not a calendar feast."

Mórrígan's crimson eyes narrowed. "It no longer needs to be. The barrier between the mortal world and the Otherworld is broken. You must go back; your disappearance frightened your protectors."

"Whose fault is that?" Ginny asked.

The goddess ignored the question.

*****

Wand out, Harry demanded, "Where did she go? What did you do to her?"

"Nothing!" Malfoy insisted. "I swear I have no idea what's going on."

"I don't believe you."

"What's that?" Malfoy breathed, eyes wide.

Harry turned, and couldn't believe what he was seeing. Beneath a tree with low, drooping boughs, silver threads were spinning through the air, slowly sketching in the outline a _door_, standing free in the middle of the room. It shimmered with every breath of air.

"Oh!" Malfoy gasped, for suddenly, they could see a landscape through the opening.

While the greenhouse was dark and warm, the other place was oppressively bright and Harry could feel its cool, refreshing breeze drift across the room. Two figures stood, enclosed by the gossamer tissue of the magic frame. One stepped through, into the room. She turned and Harry recognized Ginny's voice saying, "I'll try my best."

"You'll do a lot more than try," the other woman said and, with a small hiss, the door vanished.

Ginny turned slowly, looking first at Malfoy and then at Harry.

"I was here by myself," she said, a slight tremor in her voice as she bent down to retrieve her sword. "He came up and asked me to dance. I said yes because I was lonely. That's all there was to it. It has nothing to do with the locator talisman, or the link, or with anything he might have told you last night. I was pulled into the Otherworld before I could explain, but that's what I was going to say." She watched at him carefully, waiting for a response.

He stared back. She had not been a beautiful girl when he first laid eyes on her, at platform nine and three quarters all those years ago. Her hair had been too red, her freckles too numerous, her body too clumsy with puppy fat. The intervening years had lightened her hair to an attractive red-blonde, reduced her freckles to a buttery sprinkle over her nose and cheekbones, and molded her pudgy body into a figure soft with curves. She had exuded an earthy sensuality, but the Otherworldly delicacy that had appeared after her stay on Avalon had now permanently taken hold of her. The Goddess had touched her features and consecrated them, bringing out delicate moldings and purity of outline never seen before. Looking at her, standing within the castle's bower, Harry knew he was seeing the face the Mórrígan had always intended for Ginny to have.

She bit her lower lip and tugged the sleeves of her robe further down over her hands. "It's all right," she said in a small voice. "You don't have to say anything right now. You know where to find me if you want to talk. I'm going to see my mum."

He didn't call after her, because he wasn't sure he could even speak English at that point, much less remember his own name, so great was his astonishment. As the door silently shut behind her, Harry turned to look at Draco, and saw his own shock mirrored in the Death Eater's eyes.

For a moment, when both goddess and girl stood framed by the magic door, they had been utterly unable to tell who was who.

**The End**

*****

Did you enjoy the story? Tell a friend!

Never underestimate the motivational power of a review. Remember, feedback makes me a better writer, which translates to a better story for you to read.

Stay tuned for the conclusion of the Pendragon trilogy, _Two Thousand Years_, coming soon to a website near you, and even sooner to a yahoo group near you! Hop on over to HPPendragon, because list members always get the first look at new chapters. What's in store? Ginny, Harry, and Draco go on a wild Otherworldly quest; Mike undertakes a daring endeavor; and Ron and Hermione become more important than they'd ever dreamed possible. Romance, humor, adventure, angst, and, of course, the Mórrígan. It's not to be missed.

More specific G10 disclaimers: 1. The idea of the door in the air is borrowed from the end of CS Lewis's _Prince Caspian_ 2. Part of Harry's description of Ginny's face at the end is paraphrased from Anne's description of dead Ruby Gillis in _Anne of the Island_ by LM Montgomery 3. The idea of the Pendragon having dragon tattoos is from _The Mists of Avalon_ by Marion Zimmer Bradley 4. The scene where Ginny removes Draco's Dark Mark is similar to the lizard scene in _The Great Divorce_ by CS Lewis

Thank you so much to everyone who has read and/or reviewed this story. Your wonderful feedback is what kept me going, and I appreciate your support more than I can possibly say.

Drop me a line anytime at irina_author@yahoo.com. I love hearing from you, and I always write back. 


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